


Ashes (and Phoenixes)

by kayura_sanada



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: And the Knights Know, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arthur Knows, But No One Else, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Arthur, Protective Merlin, Twisting of Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Merlin has horrible dreams that end in him killing Arthur. But when he wakes up to find the dreams’ effects linger after sleep, he realizes his nightmares aren’t as innocuous as he’d thought.





	Ashes (and Phoenixes)

The very air felt clogged, like Merlin was breathing in a thick soup. Foggy, but not in any normal sense; this fog was earthy, nearly yellow; thick, still, but unnatural. When Merlin breathed in, he smelled only the sour scent of rot and decay.

He didn't know where Arthur was.

The ground rumbled and shook. Pebbles skittered lightly across the ground, and as he looked down, he saw that he was standing in a meadow – the meadow that led to the gates of Camelot, the one he often ventured to for the most common of Gaius' herbs. The grass crunched dryly beneath his feet.

The rumbling became more distinct, and he could hear it now; large, loud thumps, and suddenly he could see. There was Camelot, beautiful as always before him, flags lying limp in a dead wind. And as he started to turn to look behind him, something huge walked right past him. He jumped. It wasn't animal or man, but something grotesquely in-between; thick, grayish skin, flat feet, large, red eyes, and carrying what looked like a tree trunk in its hand; it was accompanied by its twin, then triplet, and when Merlin finally turned enough to see further behind him, he found a veritable army.

He moved to race back to Camelot, to find Arthur, but found his feet suddenly stuck. He looked down again. This time he saw his own legs, with chains attached to them; though he pulled and yanked as hard as he could, he found no give. His hands, when he moved to grab the chains, clinked, as well, and he found them tied to chains embedded in the ground. He shouted. Around him, he could hear voices, human voices, urging the creatures onward. And suddenly one was in his ear. “Good work, Emrys,” it said, and Merlin turned just in time to see a smiling face, a hood. One strong hand gripped his shoulder. “You've given us everything we need.”

Merlin yanked on his chains. He looked up at Camelot, only to see the creatures reach its walls and smash their makeshift weapons against it. He could hear shouts from the garrets. The person who spoke to him moved behind him as he watched. The creatures broke through the wall like it was made of sticks. Men screamed. Merlin strained against the chains, pulled for his magic. Screamed when it was denied him.

“Now, now. After all this work getting here, why would you want to leave?” The man's other hand clamped on Merlin's other shoulder, and Merlin thought the man might be looking over Merlin at the carnage as a father might at a parade. “You did well.” Those hands squeezed. “Thank you.”

Merlin pulled and wrenched, but the chains had to be made of cold iron. His magic burned like a ball of acid in his chest. He heard more shouting, then finally, Arthur. Merlin strained harder. Screamed. Shouted himself hoarse. But either Arthur couldn't hear, or there was nothing Arthur could do. Merlin saw the creatures stomp into Camelot. There were sounds of battle, then horrible, horrible crunching noises, as the creatures swatted at the knights like they were flies. Merlin saw one knight in particular fly out from the broken walls of Camelot, his dark, curly hair in his face. He saw another, thicker, bigger, taking on one of the creatures alone while other knights rallied behind him. Saw the unnatural creature drop his tree trunk on top of him.

He saw a flash of red and gold, saw the dragon's sword glint in the sunlight. His voice cracked as he tried to shout. Two creatures flanked that bright light. He dodged one beefy hand, but the second picked him up and held him above the roofs of the lower town's homes. He saw the creature squeeze. Arthur's scream of pain echoed across the field.

The man patted Merlin's shoulder. “We couldn't have done this without you.”

 _His_ magic. _His_ strength. Merlin's abilities were being used by this man.

Arthur's screams cut off. Merlin screamed, raged, sank to his knees and sobbed. The man loomed over him.

Camelot fell.

* * *

When Merlin opened his eyes, it was not with a jerk, a gasp. It was with stone stillness that he slid back into consciousness, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes nearly fluttering as he struggled to comprehend where he was. His wrists and ankles still burned, as if the cut of the shackles remained.

Then Arthur leaned over him, frown firmly in place, brows scrunched low over his eyes, and Merlin smiled. He reached up and cupped Arthur's cheek. “Hey,” he said, and blinked when he found his voice was no more than a croak.

Arthur's frown deepened at the sound. “You were screaming. What happened?”

Merlin shook his head. He tested himself once before moving, now that he could, into a sitting position. Arthur backed up, his frown turning quickly into a scowl. The man hated mornings, and a quick glance at the window told Merlin dawn hadn't even yet come. “Sorry I woke you. It was just a dream.”

Arthur's eyes narrowed. “I have seen you have nightmares before, Merlin.” And despite the darkly assessing look, Arthur's hand, when it brushed through his bangs, was gentle as air. And shaking. “That was not your normal reaction.”

According to both Arthur and Gaius – and his mother, when he'd been a child – his 'normal reaction' was no more than a whimper or two, as if to make a sound would be to bring the nightmare to life, and a sudden burst as he awoke, leaving him, more often than not, tangled in whatever blankets he had crawled under. Since coming to sleep with Arthur, the only other difference was sometimes flailing enough to smack Arthur, which inevitably woke him up, or jolting awake in Arthur's arms, which surprisingly didn't necessitate any jouncing at all.

“I don't know. It was... vivid.” Merlin frowned, thinking of Morgana and her old dreams. But he'd never had such premonitions before, and Morgana had had them all her life. While they may have been a part of her magic, they had never been part of his. “It was definitely a dream, though. Morgana always said her premonitions were hazy.”

Arthur's frown deepened at the mention of his sister and her magic. “Tell me.”

The very fact that Arthur wanted to try to battle even Merlin's nightmares made him smile. “It was the usual. You needed my help, and I couldn't get to you in time.”

It wasn't everything. The new part, the part that made his breath shudder with every inhale, was that it had been his magic that had been used to kill Arthur. Arthur could tell there was something more, but Merlin just pulled him in for a kiss, and Arthur was content to take that where it led. Merlin resolved not to let the dream worry him; he would sooner die than be used as Arthur's downfall.

* * *

Gwaine clapped him on the back as he made his way to the throne room, nearly startling him to death. The day had started busily, as usual; Arthur's days were one long line of meetings and rehearsals and paperwork. Merlin's days, on the other hand, usually had much less on their itinerary. He followed Arthur as he was needed, joined conferences if they were short a servant or two, and otherwise had himself the run of the castle, with only a third of the chores he was used to. George had picked up the less savory ones, the ones Merlin had been willing to hand off without a second thought. Cleaning the horse's stalls, for instance.

He looked up and grinned at Gwaine, at the mess of curly hair swishing into his eyes and around his cheeks. He'd seen Gwaine in his dream the night before. It was nice to see him safe and happy after such a thing. “Good morning, Gwaine.”

“Is it still morning? If it is, it's only just.” The man grinned anyway, though he at least looked forward and ensured no one was coming for their lives at the moment. “What have you been doing to not even know how late it is?”

Merlin shook his head and pushed the knight. He carefully used no magic whatsoever. “Nothing like that, Gwaine. Honestly.” Gwaine just chuckled. “I've been searching.”

“For what?” The man pushed right back, carefully not using all of his strength.

He opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. How could he explain that he was looking for any druids who might be actively hunting against Arthur, based on... a dream? A nightmare, one in which his magic had been used to power an invasion against Camelot. It was just a dream. Yet he'd woken differently than usual, and that in and of itself demanded more than a cursory examination of the dream's contents. Not to mention how his wrists hurt even now. He shrugged and said, finally, “I'm not sure yet. I had a bad dream last night. I'm hoping that's all it was, but just in case...”

Gwaine frowned. Any mention of Merlin and something bad usually had that effect on him. “How bad?”

He shook his head. They were nearly at the throne room, and Merlin lowered his voice accordingly. “Not bad, really. Just...” He sighed. His hand, when he reached for the door handle, rested loosely against the metal. “Have you ever feared your strength being used by the enemy?” he asked, knowing the position the question put him in and trusting his friend with it.

Gwaine stepped the tiniest bit closer. He leaned down until he was more on par with Merlin's height. “You know my past. My family history. When I first started working here, I feared what that past might do to you. To Arthur. To Camelot. My father... could have caused many problems.” He leaned back and smiled. “Thankfully, he never wanted me, just as I never wanted him. But yes. I feared it.”

Merlin hadn't known. He reached out on instinct, grabbing his friend's arm and squeezing. Gwaine's smile softened. He covered Merlin's hand with his own. “You're worried others might be able to use your magic?”

He nodded. “I'll need to find some way to make sure I'm warded against that. I have too much power for it to be used against Arthur.”

Gwaine pulled his serious face out long enough to nod for Merlin's benefit. “Don't worry. We'll make sure your honeymoon with the king never ends.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and scoffed. This time when he pushed his friend knight, he used just enough magic to send him on his ass. Then he ran inside before Gwaine could exact his revenge.

* * *

“Merlin, where's – never mind.”

Merlin rolled his eyes as Arthur reached underneath his desk and grabbed up the speech scroll he'd obviously been searching for. “I swear, Arthur, you'd lose your eyes if they weren't shoved in their sockets.”

Arthur glared at him. “If someone would clean the room, I wouldn't have to search quite so hard, would I?”

Merlin laughed. “I'm not in charge of that anymore, now, am I? And George knows better than to mess with the stuff on your desk.”

Arthur tossed the scroll on top of the toppling piles on his desk – thus leaving it to be lost once more come the morning – and stalked his way to Merlin's side. Merlin laughed as Arthur pulled him close, leaning back so Arthur could hover over him. “Something funny, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin cupped his king's cheeks. “Maybe,” he said, his grin widening until he thought his face might split. “Will you do something about it?”

With one hand, Arthur grabbed the back of his head and pulled it until Merlin's throat was bared before him. “I can think of something.” Merlin laughed and yanked Arthur's lapel until he gave in and kissed him. A few steps, and they would be close enough to fall back onto the bed. Merlin pushed them a little closer, then, with a flare of magic, switched them around. Arthur huffed as he fell on his back on the bed. Merlin leaned back, hands on Arthur's chest, and laughed, deep and loud in his chest.

“Show off,” Arthur choked out, and grabbed him down. The man's hips bucked up; he certainly had enough practice with sword-fighting to be able to twist that waist until his erection rubbed against Merlin's. Merlin gasped, his full body working into a deep shudder. Arthur took the chance to flip them around, nearly spilling them over the edge of the bed. A push of Merlin’s magic caught them, keeping them stationary in the air.

Arthur rubbed them together again, ignoring the wobble beneath him as Merlin's concentration faltered. He just grinned, those callused fingers tracing around the edge of Merlin's trousers, trailing the seam until he found the string keeping it tied around his waist. Arthur leaned low as his fingers curled over the simple knot. Their chests bumped with every breath. Each exhalation swept over Merlin's face. Arthur's bangs brushed his forehead.

 _I love you_ , he thought, the words unbidden in his mind. He flushed and shoved them back from whence they came. Arthur had never given them a place. Not here, and not anywhere else.

Merlin's trousers came loose, and those hands swept inside, flicking against the head of his erection. He jumped. They nearly toppled off the edge of the bed. Arthur chuckled. “Would you let your king fall, Merlin?”

He gasped. Arthur's hand wrapped tight around him. “Arthur,” he said. It was all he could manage. He pushed down on the air below them, imagined a stable force beneath them. Arthur pushed up Merlin's shirt with his free hand, trailed a gentle touch over his chest to his nipple. Merlin's breath hitched. They wobbled again. This time when he pushed his magic down, he could feel the overuse of it, the way it nearly shoved them up off the bed. Arthur wrapped his legs on either side of Merlin and splayed the hand on Merlin's chest wide. He laughed. That other hand squeezed around him a little, just enough for him to gasp and buck up into the pressure.

“Do hold on tight, Merlin,” Arthur said, leaning down enough again, letting Merlin feel his breath on his face, the hint of the night's ham mixing with Arthur's natural scent. He dared reach up himself, letting his hands follow the familiar lines of Arthur's shoulders to his pecs and down to the edge of his own shirt, following the lines of the man's abdomen. He let his magic swish the bottom of the man's shirt, just enough to give the intention of what he wanted. Arthur grinned and held one hand up, then switched to the other, keeping one hand always around Merlin's cock. He started pumping when Merlin had one sleeve off Arthur, and he moaned and bucked mindlessly into the touch, barely remembering to keep his magic trained on the area around them. He gasped at the feeling of heat pooling down to his groin. With Arthur touching him, his control on his magic kept slipping. He used far more than he would have to if he weren't so distracted.

Once Arthur's shirt was successfully removed, Merlin changed his tactics. Arthur was a vision of sunlight; his hair was its rays, but his body was its own. Golden, glistening now with the heat of their bodies, the muscles on display as Arthur lifted himself up enough to toss the shirt to the side and begin working his pants down. Merlin deftly untied the knot, having done so countless times even before they'd become what they were now. Arthur growled at the feel of his fingers, and Merlin slowed enough to let his knuckles brush against the hardened length of Arthur's cock.

Arthur, the cheater, gave up on besting Merlin in the strange strip-tease going on and reached straight for Merlin's cock again, rubbing that callused palm over his pants. He howled and bucked up, nearly losing control of his magic entirely. It shot out, down, and only stabilized when Arthur leaned down and mouthed at his chest. The reminder of Arthur above him forced him to get a grip on his magic once more. "Arthur," he groaned. "We should get back on the bed." The last word turned into a groan as Arthur breathed against his nipple. He could hardly see what the man was doing with his shirt up around his throat, the shoulders of his sleeves wrapped so tight around his armpits that it nearly hurt to move them. Still he shivered and gasped as Arthur ignored him, that hand curling around the cloth of his pants and his dick both, that tongue flicking his nipple until his chest burned.

He pushed Arthur's pants down as far as he could and wrapped his own hand around Arthur's.

His king shuddered. He bit down on Merlin's areola, making him gasp. This would not be a time of slow making out or careful ministrations. They would be lucky if they made it another five minutes.

Which was good, because Merlin was almost positive he wouldn't be able to control his magic enough to keep them stable if Arthur got inside him.

To that end, he twisted his wrist and pumped up Arthur's shaft, making his king shudder and stutter another breathy gasp. Merlin smirked. Arthur saw, of course. The very suggestion of a challenge got his insanely competitive lover to wrench Merlin's own pants down. The king pumped into Merlin's hand, lifted his head to take Merlin's mouth in his, and fingered the slit of Merlin's cock. From beneath Arthur's body, Merlin writhed, his magic going haywire once more, his mind fritzing as he keened, his own hips moving to force faster friction. His free hand moved to Arthur's shoulder. Everything inside him turned white-hot. "Arthur. I'm..."

"Not quite yet."

Arthur pulled away, only to place his fingers in Merlin's mouth, instead. Already knowing his plan, Merlin opened for him, gathering as much saliva as he could before wrapping his lips tight and sucking. He shuddered, his hand stumbling over Arthur's dick, losing its rhythm. Arthur rutted into the circle of his palm, anyway. "Come on, Merlin. Can't you multitask?"

He shook his head, barely remembering his magic in time to keep them stable and not tipping to the side.

Arthur grinned down at him. "Well, then. Let me show you how it's done."

Arthur pulled his fingers free, Merlin releasing them with a slight pop, and slid them down to his groin. Merlin spread his legs wide and hefted them up, releasing Arthur's cock to hold his knees up. Arthur just leaned down and wrapped his hand around them both. Merlin shuddered as his cock rubbed against Arthur’s, his king’s hand already sliding down to their bases as his wet finger found the wrinkled entrance to his backside. Arthur teased the hole, let his fingernail lightly scrape the skin. Merlin keened, lifted up into Arthur's hold. "Please!"

Arthur chuckled above him, but he finally inched his way inside. His fist pumped a bit more strongly, pulling Merlin's attention from the slight stretch of muscle, the hint of what could have been pain if he wasn't so lost to his lust. Arthur took his lips for real this time, melding their mouths together and rocking into his own fist. Merlin's moan vibrated inside their mouths. The white-hot fire was back, scorching his body with every heartbeat. He leaned up, trying to reach that burning glow within him. Arthur's finger followed him, sliding a bit further inside. He groaned. The slight chance of pain returned, pulling him from the very edge. Yet that finger retreated, returned, wriggled, and the pain left once more, leaving him twisting and turning beneath Arthur's body. His magic flared and spun, barely doing more than pushing unceasingly, keeping them aloft with nothing but pure power.

Arthur kept his hips slow as they moved, the friction of heat against Merlin's dick doing little but keeping him on the edge, writhing and arching his back. He rocked against Arthur, unable to do more in the position he lay in, his fingers gripping skin hard enough to score marks in it. "Shoulders, Merlin," Arthur said finally, and without waiting for more, Merlin slid his legs over Arthur's shoulders, as ordered. "Ointment."

Merlin groaned. He didn't know if he could. Still, he obeyed his king, reaching with his magic for the bedside table. He heard something crash and moaned. "Can't," he said, his entire body tensing as Arthur bit at his neck. "I – my magic – I can't," he said, unable to think enough to make sentences.

"Yes, you can," Arthur said. "Come on."

He grunted, his entire body sliding on air as Arthur pushed their dicks together. His brain fizzed. Another crash, but at least the bottle of ointment thwacked Merlin in the arm, and that meant they could proceed.

Arthur made to release their dicks, but stopped at Merlin's keen. He grabbed the ointment from the air and spread it onto Merlin’s fingers. Arthur pulled his own finger away, his eyes glittering as he watched Merlin place his middle finger inside his own body. His magic waved around them with enough force to push the sheets away from them. Arthur's papers went flying. Arthur curled his now free hand beneath the both of them, as if he could somehow stabilize them if Merlin's magic failed. His other hand, still wrapped around them both, began that slow slide up and down. Merlin bit his lip and whimpered.

He wished he could control his magic enough to hurry the process. Without it, it took precious minutes to stretch himself enough to add a second finger, then piston them enough to add a third. The white-hot boiling point simmered unrestfully inside him, teased by Arthur's pistoning grip into an unbanked flame.

Finally he gave up and just removed his fingers altogether. "Arthur, now, please."

Arthur wasted no time, sliding his dick free of its confines and pressing against Merlin's slicked entrance. Merlin bucked up, trying to get more faster. Arthur just grabbed his hips and continued his inexorable slide down. Merlin bit his lip harder, but couldn't stop the cry as he was stretched, opened, filled with heat. Something fell to the floor. It might have been a chair.

"Merlin, if you aren't careful, the knights are going to think we're being assassinated." Arthur's lips pulled back as he struggled for his own control; Merlin knew they were both near the edge. Had been. It was some sort of miracle they were still going.

"Trying," he panted. "Just–" He made some sort of broken sound and lifted up, surprising Arthur enough to slide him further inside before the king could hold him down. "Get _in_."

Arthur huffed a laugh, leaning down and kissing Merlin again before lifting onto his elbows and just – rocking. Each retreat was matched by its inevitable return, the space between them slowly diminishing as Arthur pushed in a bit more. Merlin leaned up, arched his back and licked Arthur's jaw, feeling the rough pebbling of stubble until he met the lobe of Arthur's ear. He nibbled at it.

With a jerk, Arthur plummeted inside him. Merlin shook at the contact, biting down on the soft flesh, his deep moan whispering directly into Arthur's ear. He let go of his grip and plopped back down, his magic shoring him up so that he didn't bend backwards. He reached down to grab himself.

"Oh, no." Arthur stopped him, only to place all his weight on one hand and drive deep inside. Merlin wrenched his head back, groaned so loudly he was certain anyone concerned about the ruckus would know exactly what was happening. Arthur's breath jerked in and out, more gasps than anything else. He was close. He was going to come.

"Arthur, please." He reached down again.

Of course, Arthur beat him to it.

Nothing, nothing in the world, could beat Arthur's level of dedication to something he has chosen to do. So while the king had never, under the overbearing watch of his father, had the chance to go so far with a male before, he had learned, so very quickly, what made Merlin's breath hitch. A twist of the wrist, a flick of the head, a squeeze at the bottom of the shaft. He knew what would make Merlin squirm – a squeeze at the top, enough to make pre-cum ooze from the tip, the light trace at the tip of his foreskin. He could make Merlin keen and gasp and cry out with a single digit trailing the vein at the underside of his dick. And Arthur used it all, played Merlin like an instrument, until he was a garbled mess of noises and sensations, his toes curling and back lifting, his ass squeezing down on the hard heat inside him. He babbled incoherently, his fingers scoring into Arthur's back, his neck, his shoulder blades, his hands feeling the movement of bone and muscle as he held on for dear life. Arthur recognized the signs and pumped furiously, pulling Merlin's back into a bow as he cried out and came. Merlin felt Arthur inside of him, felt his king piston shortly a handful of times into that tightened ring before coming, as well. His body filled with the hot feel of Arthur's seed.

They started falling, Merlin's back bending down. Arthur yanked him back up and rolled them back onto the bed, their bodies still entwined, Arthur's softening cock still sitting inside him. Merlin hugged Arthur close, his body still trembling from the aftereffects of his climax. Arthur huffed. "You're getting a mess all over the both of us."

Now that they were safely back on the bed, Merlin had no trouble magically grabbing the tub from its place in storage, yanking it until it sat by the hearth, and filling it with water. He heated it just before nuzzling into Arthur's neck and breathing deep.

Arthur laughed. One hand came up to pet Merlin's hair. "Showing off again, Merlin?"

He hummed. "I think being able to keep us up with my magic while orgasming is enough showing off for the night, don't you?"

Arthur snorted. "Sure," he said. To Merlin's surprise, Arthur bent and kissed the top of his head. "If you hadn't destroyed the room in the process."

Merlin grinned. "Poor George," he said, immensely pleased with the fact that it wasn't going to be him having to clean up another's mess. And then, on the heels of that, came the guilt at even thinking such a thing. He should probably start straightening.

"Yes," Arthur agreed, tightening his grip when Merlin made to stand. "Poor George. Now get in the bath and test if your skills managed to make the water warm and not boiling."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "As if I couldn't just cool it."

"Get moving, _Mer_ lin."

"Yes, Your Royalness."

* * *

He knew this feeling. The heavy, blocked, foggy feeling of something controlling him. The touch of magic, like the strings of a puppet, moving him ever forward. But now he couldn't fight, couldn't hide behind the facade of what Morgana had once thought him to be. The magic no longer ordered a bumbling fool of a servant to kill his master, but instead ordered a powerful wizard to do so. And so he smiled up at Arthur, slid a hand through his hair. Arthur was still sweat-glistened from their time together, as trusting of Merlin's magic now as he'd been just the night before.

Arthur looked down on him with shining eyes. They truly were the most beautiful shade of blue Merlin had ever seen. Like the sky.

 _"Forbearnan,"_ he said, and watched Arthur's hair burst into flame. His king barely had time to rear back, those eyes widening, still disbelieving as the fire consumed his face, crossed over those eyes and down to the neck, lighting his clothes. Merlin stood from the bed as it, too, lit with the unnatural flame. Arthur managed a single, choked gasp before he fell to the burns. His body lit the sheets red, his blood clotting on his wrinkling skin faster than it could fall. He blistered, burst. Turned brown before Merlin's very eyes. The entire room stank of cooked meat.

With slight, miniscule snaps, the strings in his mind broke apart, falling to memory. Slowly, slowly, his limbs returned to him, his mind pulled from that fog to a horrible clarity. He recoiled from the sight before him. Turned his head and was sick upon the floor. The fire raged before him. Someone pounded on the door. "My king! Are you well? There's smoke!"

"Help," Merlin croaked, even though it was too late. Far too late. He walked toward the flames, hands outstretched as if, somehow, he could stop what he'd already done. The fire burned so hot his fingers felt like they were already in the flames. "Help!" he screeched, falling to his knees beside the bed. The fire licked out toward him. He welcomed it. Tears clogged his vision, blurring the brown carcass of his king. He screamed.

* * *

Merlin awoke to screams.

He couldn't move. He could barely gasp in a breath, and when he did, it was filled with smoke. He shuddered, but otherwise remained still.

Hands were on him. He heard Arthur cursing him, demanding to know just how heavy a man could get in the span of a few hours. Tears pooled out of the sides of his eyes at the sound of Arthur’s voice. "Dammit, Merlin, what the hell is going on?"

Because something was certainly wrong. The smoke shouldn't smell so fierce, the sound of the fire shouldn't flake across his ears. While he still struggled to breathe, to move, he saw, from the corner of his eyes, an orange light flickering madly. His body seized. "Arthur," he croaked.

Arthur nearly dropped him, though Merlin could feel too many hands around him for it to just be him. Someone else held him largely upright until Arthur could reach his side. "Merlin!" Arthur touched his cheek, his chest. Only after a few silent heartbeats passed did Arthur speak again. "Can you move? Can you put out the fire?"

His breath came in jerking pants. He'd started it. He was more sure of that fact than he'd ever been of anything in his life. He remembered the dream, so clearly it couldn't have been a vision. But that wasn't all it needed to be.

He nodded at his king and turned his head toward the fire. _"Ácwence."_

It had spread. The bed was scorched; the pillows and sheets were little more than brown, curling things, the area the fire began – around Merlin's side of the bed – black with ash. One of the tapers had been burned enough to fall, pulling the edge of the canopy with it. It bowed precariously over the remains of the bed.

He gasped. "Oh, gods. Arthur. Arthur."

Arthur came back, even as this other someone made a startled sound – Percival – and hefted him a bit higher. "He's lighter," Percival said.

"That doesn't even make sense!" Arthur snapped. Merlin swiveled his head and caught sight of him as he came once more to stand by Merlin. "What's wrong?" he asked. He laid his hand over Merlin's chest again, once more checking for his breath, his heartbeat. Merlin couldn't answer, seeing the soot and ash in Arthur's hair, on his face. He reached up and touched, just barely, his hand shaking so badly he could barely tell if he was touching Arthur or not.

He'd set the bed on fire. With Arthur still in it. He gasped, over and over, and found he once again couldn't breathe.

"Get him out of here! The smoke can't be helping him!" And Arthur moved away, giving Percival the exit he needed to be able to get Merlin out.

As soon as Arthur was out of his line of sight, the shaking got worse. Percival curled him into his chest and charged out of the room. Someone wrapped something around him – a wet cloth. He heard Gaius speaking, hurried words that led to him being placed on the stone floor. Someone hovered over him for a second, only to move with Gaius' quick, "give him some space!"

He curled up on his side, hugging his guts as they churned dangerously in his stomach. He tasted bile in his throat.

"Merlin." A careful touch, right where his back met his shoulder. He recognized Gaius' gnarled hand and curled tighter. He took his magic and slammed it down, feeling almost sicker as he pushed it away.

"Gaius," he whispered, barely hearing himself over the thick pounding of his heart, "what have I done?"

Gaius' hand squeezed for a moment. The old man couldn't find words to help him. What was there to say? He was too powerful to be losing control of his magic like this. He could have... could have... he curled tighter and sucked tiny gasps of air. Arthur could be as brown as he'd been in his dream, a dried husk smelling of meat and fire. He clenched his eyes shut, but all that did was bring back the images. Something like a moan escaped him. It trembled and broke.

He would rather never have magic than ever use it against Arthur. And yet that was exactly what he'd just done.

He didn't know how much time passed, only that the smoke smell started dissipating, the world quieted slightly. Voices and movement increased, making him flinch. Then he heard a certain voice, and just like that, the world became crystal clear once more.

"What's happening? What's wrong? Is he injured?"

"Nothing like that, sire," Gaius said. "He seems to be having... an adverse reaction to the night's events."

"What does that mean?" Arthur's voice got closer, and suddenly it was imperative Merlin check him once more. He wasn't good at healing, had never been good at it. But he could try. He could – could–

_With this magic? The magic that had hurt Arthur?_

He shuddered.

"Merlin?" A new, different touch on his shoulder, and he flinched. "Merlin, are you all right?"

He shook his head. Despite himself, he reached up and grabbed Arthur's hand, holding on tight when he knew he shouldn't. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Everyone, get away." Arthur's voice rang through the smoke-filled hall with such authority Merlin flinched again. "Merlin." Implacably, Arthur made him sit up and face him. He shivered at the sight of those bright blue eyes. "I know this wasn't you."

Merlin hitched in a breath. Shook his head. "No, you don't understand."

"I do," Arthur said, his voice snapping out. His hands clenched on Merlin's arms. "You were dreaming. Just like last night."

Merlin hiccuped, surprise lighting his face. It crumpled at the fiercely lowered brows, the determined press of those soft lips. "I'm sorry. I–"

"Tell me what happened."

He shivered and capitulated. "I – I was dreaming about – about when Morgana had me under her control."

Arthur stiffened. "When did this happen?"

Arthur did not, would not, let go of him. Merlin explained the story, in fits and bursts, as Gaius cleared off the serving staff and got the knights to stand a few feet away. It gave them, if nothing else, the slight illusion of privacy. Until Gaius came back and made Merlin swig down three different vials of potions.

"But this was different," Arthur said. "You've never reacted so strongly to your dreams before. Even ones that brought back memories."

Merlin shook his head. Gaius and Arthur had moved him to lean against the wall. The stones had been slightly warm from the heat of the fire when he'd been first placed there, but they were finally beginning to cool. He leaned his head against them and closed his eyes. It once again brought the memory of the dream, and he snapped them back open, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling.

"I believe something is attacking you, Merlin."

Merlin jumped at the sound of Gaius' voice. He turned to the physician. "Attacking me?" he croaked.

"There are many creatures that attack humans in their dreams." Now Arthur was paying attention, wrapping an arm around Merlin's shoulders and pulling him close. "I believe one of them has latched itself to you, for whatever reason. Perhaps it wants your magic, or perhaps your position. Perhaps it was after Arthur–"

"No," Merlin said, shaking his head and lowering his gaze. He thought of the dreams, the few things they had in common. Arthur’s death. And him being responsible. Him, and his magic, and the feeling of being controlled. "I think you were right with the first one. It wants my magic."

Arthur's fingers gripped his shoulder almost tight enough to hurt. Merlin caught him baring his teeth. "How do you know?"

He couldn't help looking Arthur up and down, once, twice. Three times. He took several deep breaths when he saw nothing worse than a reddened arm, already bandaged, and even more soot stains. He'd hurt Arthur. He'd done what he'd never wanted to do. But at least Arthur was still alive. "The dream. The first one had me trapped while you and Camelot were attacked." He shuddered. "I – my magic had been siphoned. It was being used against you. And this time Morgana made me..." He shivered again. "It's always about my magic."

Gaius made a considering noise as Arthur stared. "It might be your mind, or your magic, trying to warn you."

Merlin looked over at Arthur. "I would _never_ ," he said, then looked back at Arthur's arm. His chest nearly fractured at the sudden weight on it. In it. He hissed in a short breath. "I would _never_ have–"

"Of course you wouldn't, _Mer_ lin!" The snarl nearly made Merlin flinch again. Arthur sighed and grabbed his head with the arm wrapped around him. "I knew it wasn't you the moment it happened. You wouldn't hurt me. Not willingly."

Tears sprang in his eyes. Arthur scoffed at the sight, but thankfully chose not to tease him this time. Instead he just pulled Merlin until he leaned his face into the crook of Arthur's neck. He felt Arthur turn back to Gaius. "So what is this thing and how do we defeat it?"

"It could be a number of creatures. Mares, or maras, are often the most common, my lord, but I would not be comfortable saying it is one of them without knowing for certain. I would have to consult my texts."

Arthur tilted his head in acquiescence, and Gaius stood, his knees and back popping as he did. Merlin watched him get up. "Merlin. I needn't tell you how important it is that you not sleep, at least for the time being."

Merlin nodded dumbly, trembling all over again at the thought of falling asleep again and waking to find Arthur dead before him. He hissed in breath after breath, never able to get enough air. Arthur rubbed his back. "Don't worry, Gaius, I'll keep an eye on him. Just find out what's doing this."

"You must also be careful, sire. Your arm will need another layer of ointment in another hour or so, then steady cleaning to ensure it doesn't get infected. Neither Merlin nor myself are practiced in the healing arts."

Arthur nodded. Merlin shuddered all over again at the reminder that he'd burned Arthur in his fear. He'd thought he would never hurt Arthur, had almost believed his magic would reject the thought of it as viscerally as he did. It was daunting, terrifying, to learn otherwise. Worse, they now sat next to one another, Gaius actually standing as if to leave, to move away, and the guards were far enough away that they would be far too late if Merlin tried anything. Even if they could reach him in time, he had the magic to throw them away.

He hissed in a sharp breath. "You should keep one of the knights with us," he said. Gaius gave him a steady look as he packed up his things and left. Arthur glared at him. Merlin hunched his shoulders.

"Don't be ridiculous, _Mer_ lin," he said, and even though Merlin had been certain he would say it, still it brought a flash flood of shame to his chest. "You were coerced into this. Now get up; the servants will clean this room. For now, we'll be staying in a neighboring suite."

Merlin let himself be led down the hall, his feet sounding like thunderclaps as he walked beside his king despite what he'd done.

Arthur was obviously not going to let him apologize, and he doubted the guilt he felt would help. The only thing he could do was help Gaius find out what it was that had attacked him. He glanced over to the man beside him. He looked angry. Of course the anger was not directed at him; no matter how Merlin felt on the subject, Arthur had already made his opinions plain. Which meant Arthur was angry with the circumstances. And why shouldn't he be? He had nothing to fight. Nothing to swing a sword at and declare dead. What could a warrior like him do against something he couldn't even battle?

What could Merlin do, when the thing that attacked him was invisible and preyed on his deepest fears during his most vulnerable hours?

* * *

Arthur trained in the yard as dawn approached, nearly dragging Merlin out to ensure he could watch over him while he practiced. Merlin watched Arthur wince his way through several swings before turning away, unable to bear what he’d done a moment longer. The training field was only now starting to fill with others; knights hurried up to their king, each taking a look at the damage to his person, each asking him about the events of the night before. Merlin didn’t listen for Arthur’s responses, knowing by now that he would defend Merlin, no matter what Merlin himself would prefer.

He’d spent the wee hours of the morning looking through the old magical tomes in the library. He’d steered Arthur clear of the artifacts in the room, leery of any of them after the disaster with the imp. But even with the combined efforts of the two of them, they found little on the subject of dreams, and more on the idea of creatures forcing their enemies into slumber to drain them than creatures that attacked when their victim was naturally asleep.

After practice, Arthur had to attend meetings with his council, meetings Merlin, in being babysat by Arthur, had to attend, as well. At least Arthur cut them off early, his sharp gaze catching when Merlin began to flag.

Merlin fussed over Arthur’s arm as he led them back to their makeshift room, making the king huff in annoyance until they finally reached their destination. As soon as the door was closed, Arthur rounded on him. “Merlin!”

He dropped his hands and backed away, trying to cover the slight flinch with a twist of his wrist. The fireplace burst into flame. He paled at the sight of it, even though it stayed in the hearth where it belonged. “Sorry.”

Arthur raked a hand through his hair and sighed. Loudly. “For the _last time_. It was an accident. I will not hear any more of this. And you will not baby me!”

Merlin gave Arthur a droll look.

“I am your king,” he said, lifting his chin. “I can treat you however I want.”

Merlin snorted. “Yes, my lord.”

Arthur stepped into Merlin’s space, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him forward. He tugged him into a kiss, only to pull away and say, “if you want to make my life more difficult, Merlin, then the least you could do is make it more fun, as well.”

Merlin eyed the bandages just barely visible beneath Arthur’s tunic. “Fun, sire?”

His peripheral vision caught the edges of Arthur’s smirk. The man ground up into Merlin. He gasped. “I believe I could get out of a few responsibilities due to my injury. And I can certainly think of a way to pass the time that does not involve sleeping.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t that make us tired afterward?”

“What’s that, Merlin? Not up to the challenge?”

He grinned despite himself. “You’re gonna regret that one.”

* * *

They both regretted it.

Not that the experience was anything to regret, but it left them both tired, and it made Arthur’s arm sore. Merlin soothed more ointment on it before re-bandaging it. They sat on the edge of the bed, both of them still naked, and waited for their hearts to stop racing.

“Well,” Arthur said with a grin, “that was certainly worth it, I think.”

Merlin groaned.

They got dressed. By silent agreement, they made their way to Gaius’. Even if they hadn’t had sex, Merlin would still need to sleep eventually. His rest the past couple of days had already been splotchy, at best. Through his spawning hunger, he felt sleepiness begin to descend. He yawned as they made their way to the physician’s door. Arthur frowned down at him.

Gaius sat at the bench, his back bent over a book, his magnifying glass sitting over the text. Other texts sat in a sliding pile by his elbow. The old man looked up as they entered. “Your Highness.” Gaius made to stand, only to be ordered still by Arthur. “Are you well?” he asked, settling back in his seat. “Does your arm hurt?”

“No. And no, Merlin didn’t fall asleep. Yet.” Arthur swept up to Gaius’ side and peered over his shoulder. “Anything?”

“A few possibilities, sire. The maras seem a distinct possibility, but there are others. Many of them simply feast on a person’s life energy. I can’t find one that specifically targets a person’s magic.”

Merlin shook his head. “There has to be something. Maybe...” He stopped. Frowned. “Wait. What did you say?”

Gaius’ brows furrowed. “You mean about targeting one’s magic?”

“No.” He held up a hand, shook his head. “It’s just… something that’s been said to me. A few times.” He looked at Arthur. This was another piece of information he’d chosen not to share. With anyone. It made him feel less human. “Kilgarrah, and the Sidhe, and even Nimueh. They all said I _am_ magic. That… that’s what I am.” He looked away from Arthur before he could see how the man reacted. “Maybe this creature is _trying_ to feed on my life energy, and is ending up feeding on my magic instead?”

“Merlin, what on earth are you talking about? You can’t _be_ magic!”

But Gaius didn’t argue. He just nodded. “It’s something I feared, as well.”

Arthur spluttered. “You can’t be serious!”

“Arthur, I told you, I was born with magic. I couldn’t help it. It’s just what I am. Same as Morgana, and Morgause, and Nimueh, and even Gaius. We’re born like this. But I’ve always been able to do things – impossible things, like stop time – and I’ve been doing it since I was in the cradle!” He held his hands palm up and stared at Arthur. “And over and over again, ever since I arrived here, people have been telling me that I am magic. That it flows through me the same way it flows through _dragons_. The last great dragon has told me I am like him. Not just a dragonlord, but _a creature of magic_.”

Gaius’ lips thinned. “If this creature simply wants your life energy, then it might not be pleased to be getting a two-course meal. Your nightmares may be twisted to show the creature’s efforts to separate you from your magic, or may even be simply symptoms of the thing trying to feed on you.”

“In other words,” Arthur said with a scowl, “we’ve expanded our options, not narrowed them.”

The look Gaius sent the king was grave. “Indeed.”

* * *

Arthur had to attend a formal dinner, and Merlin searched through Gaius’ books with him during the first hour, then, when his eyes started hurting, decided to take a short walk along the battlements.

The encroaching evening shook lines of orange and yellow over the clouds lining the bright blue sky. Crickets competed with the birds, both trying to out-sing the other as the wind cooled along the high lines of the walls. He breathed in the cold scent of night and heather, even as he readjusted his neckerchief against the rising chill.

They had managed to find a number of creatures, a few that attacked via dreams and plenty that fed on their victims’ magic, but none that did both. Not that they knew for sure that the thing was after his magic. If there was a ‘thing’ at all.

Merlin stopped moving, nearly directly in-between two guards, and glared at the stonework beneath his feet. He had never had dreams like the ones Morgana has suffered; he hadn’t lost control of his magic when sleeping since he’d been a child. And even then, his mother had assured him that he’d limited his use of magic to levitation or telekinesis; he might have made his crib float for a week straight, or yanked every single stuffed animal into his bed, but he’d never started a fire. Certainly not as an adult – and, after finding a home in Camelot, he’d been introduced to a whole new level of nightmares than what he’d experienced in Ealdor. If anything would have made him lose control of his magic in his dreams, it would have been those nightmares of being executed, or of watching Arthur die.

That left a creature of magic, just as they suspected. He rubbed at his eyes, already feeling the drain on his energy from the previous few days. What other creature would be able to invade someone’s dreams? And not just invade them, but manipulate the person’s body, their magic, along with them?

He sighed. He’d thought the evening breeze would do him some good, but all it had done was remind him of why he had to hurry.

He thought again of Arthur’s rooms, of the stone still blackened by the fire, and shuddered. Without thought, he turned on his heel and hurried back to Gaius’ rooms.

* * *

Night came. They’d known it would, though of course some part of them had hoped to somehow have the answer before it did. Arthur watched the evening spread red and black against the sky with a deep frown marring his handsome face. Merlin kept busy with the fire, their clothes, the vestiges of their evening meal. He couldn’t quite stifle his yawns, even in this room, the second largest in the castle and on the wrong side of the corridor, where the reminder of why they weren’t in Arthur’s stood stark against every stone.

By the time the sun was gone entirely and Merlin had lit the evening candles, Arthur still hadn’t dressed for bed. Merlin side-eyed him as he moved Arthur’s boots beside the bed. “You need to sleep, Arthur,” he said quietly.

“No.” That jaw of his jutted out at about the exact same time those full lips pursed into a duck’s bill. Merlin sighed.

“How would it do any good for both of us to get exhausted at the same time? If you go to sleep, then you can help keep me awake in the morning, when I’m going to be even sleepier. Or at least, if I fall asleep, you’ll be aware enough to get yourself to safety.” Arthur snarled. Merlin met his anger head on. “It’s not like I’ve never pulled all-nighters,” he said, beating Arthur to his usual stubborn refusal. “ _Some_ people, when they were princes, would demand I work all through the night.”

“That has nothing to do with this! And don’t order your king!” Arthur snapped. He grabbed Merlin’s shoulders and dropped his forehead against his. It almost hurt, but then everything around them paused. Merlin’s heart pounded. “Usually, even when magic’s involved, there is something I can do. Something to plan, something to _fight_.” His breath washed hot over Merlin’s face. It smelled of venison, and of wine, and of heat. “Tell me what I can _do_ , Merlin.”

Merlin closed his eyes. Breathed in. “Being with you helps. But I can’t have you hurt. What if you were to accidentally stab me with your sword?” Arthur tensed. Shuddered.

“All right, Merlin. You win this round. But how will my sleeping help?”

Merlin grinned. “I’ll get to watch you, of course.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He let go of Merlin’s shoulders. “Merlin, you are such a _girl._ ”

Those bright blue eyes were even more beautiful when they danced like that. Like sunlight dappling a lake. Merlin tilted his head for a kiss. Arthur grabbed his hair and twisted his head further, until the kiss turned into a sort of plundering. Into ownership.

 _I love you_ , he thought again. He didn’t think it right to say it when the bandages on Arthur’s arm stood bright white against his golden skin.

* * *

Arthur woke early, the sky still gray, the sun not even visible over Camelot’s horizon. He sat up as soon as his eyes opened, his gaze sweeping out over the room, stopping as soon as he caught sight of Merlin sitting in the chair he’d moved from the table to the side of Arthur’s bed. Arthur raised a disbelieving brow. “Tell me you haven’t _actually_ been watching me all night.”

Merlin grinned. “You slept like a baby, so who cares?”

Arthur made a disgusted face. “Unbelievable.” The man threw his covers back – making as much of a mess of it as possible – and stood. Merlin had already laid out his clothes for the day, older, less pressed clothing due to the rest of Arthur’s clothes smelling like smoke at the moment, and Merlin got up to help the man dress.

In reality, he’d only started watching for the past hour or so – just after the pages of the book in front of him had begun to blur. The flustered blush on Arthur’s cheeks, however, was too good to assuage. Merlin held up Arthur’s trousers, only for the king to snatch them out of his hands and pull them on himself. Merlin laughed.

Watching Arthur sleep had firmed his resolve. Thanks to that, for the first time in hours, his eyes didn’t burn for want of sleep. “At least let me tie it up, Your Majesty.”

Arthur shot him a dirty look.

They got ready rather quickly, as Arthur got dressed fast so Merlin couldn’t do it for him, and Merlin, who would be going much slower due to sleepiness, had gotten dressed a few hours before Arthur had woken.

Arthur managed to mangle the knots of his shirt, and Merlin reached up instinctively to fix the mess. Arthur stiffened at the first brush of skin on skin. Merlin couldn’t help but smirk. “Frustrated, sire? So early in the morning?”

Arthur scowled at him. Merlin kissed his nose before focusing back on his work. He knew Arthur was wrinkling it; the king always complained that the move made him ticklish. “Well, it’s not like we can do anything. You can’t afford the sleepy aftermath, can you?”

Merlin tensed. That was true. They could make out without a problem; in fact, last night’s kisses had helped Merlin get through that first hour, watching Arthur toss and turn alone in the slightly smaller bed. But while sexual tension did wonders to keep a man awake, actually releasing said tension was the exact opposite of useful. The reason Merlin had manged just fine those first couple of hours was because he’d been in such a state of frustration that the only things on his mind were his lust and the discomfort of his breeches.

Then he smiled. “There’s no reason we should both suffer.” He looked Arthur up and down, smiling wickedly. He heard Arthur swallow. “You have a speech in an hour or so, but afterwards?” He slid his hands down Arthur’s chest, pretending to be straightening out wrinkles. “You should have a short break before your meetings.”

Arthur sucked in a breath. “You little idiot,” he breathed. “I’m going to be hard when I speak in front of the council!”

Merlin laughed and patted the man’s shoulder. “That should motivate you.”

“ _Merlin!”_

He ducked under Arthur’s grab. “I’ll get your boots,” he said, and proceeded to use said excuse to skim his fingers up Arthur’s ankle more filthily than he’d once imagined possible.

Arthur trembled on his usually steady other foot. The man’s finger’s dug into Merlin’s shoulder. Those short nails dug into the fabric of his shirt. “Perhaps I’ll add the law that magic-users can’t become manservants.”

“Sounds brilliant, sire,” Merlin said, deliberately grinning up from where he knelt before the man. A flush rose high on those cheeks. “I think magic-users would be eternally grateful for that.”

Arthur huffed. “You, of course, would be exempt.”

“Of course,” he said, letting his breath ghost over Arthur’s hip. The king shuddered. He tied the knots of the boots and stood, letting his fingers slide up Arthur’s leg. “Unless you want me to take care of that problem of yours?”

“Merlin, there’s no time.”

Merlin grinned. “Watch me.” He dared cup Arthur’s pants. The bulge beneath really wasn’t too noticeable; the fabric was thick, and beneath it Arthur wore a tight undergarment. Still, the instant Merlin touched it, he could feel its heat beneath his palm, could feel the muscles in the organ jump beneath the heel of his hand. He rubbed the pads of his fingers over Arthur’s balls.

Arthur sucked in a breath.

Merlin hadn’t tied the knots of Arthur’s trousers yet, and he took the chance to slide his hand inside. Arthur’s eyes glittered as he looked down at him. He didn’t demand Merlin stop. Merlin pulled his hand back just long enough to slide one long, wet trail of his tongue from heel to nailbed before wrapping Arthur’s cock back into his hand and sliding up from base to tip. Arthur hissed in a breath.

Arthur’s fingers curled into Merlin’s hair, his breath carefully even as Merlin worked. Merlin twisted his wrist as he got to the head, his thumb flicking over the slit. Arthur’s careful breaths hitched. He grinned.

With little time left before Arthur’s meeting, Merlin focused on making those hitches in breath turn into hitches in movement – he pumped Arthur hot and fast, used every trick he’d learned, until Arthur’s hips jerked sporadically with every pump, until those fingers clenched tight in his hair, pulling at the roots, Arthur’s breath turning fast and loud. He watched until Arthur gritted his teeth, those long, light eyelashes fluttering over those bright eyes, and he held a single hand over the head of Arthur’s cock to catch as much of the semen as possible as Arthur came.

Merlin tried to keep his breath as steady as possible. His pants felt horribly tight. He pulled back to clean his hands and smiled at Arthur. “One moment.” He went to the basin left over from the night before and washed his hands. Only after he was clean did he return, drying himself with a quick spell before tying Arthur’s trousers, not wanting to leave a suspicious wetness over such an area.

“You?” Arthur asked, even though they both had to know he couldn’t afford to.

Merlin planted a quick, chaste kiss on Arthur’s full lips. “Make it up to me when this is over?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened. “Hurry up, Merlin, before all of your unnaturally hard work is ruined.”

Merlin grinned. Arthur was ready to go in fifteen minutes, and Merlin was wide, wide awake when he did.

* * *

He barely got his boner under control before someone came knocking at the door.

“Come on in,” he said. The words barely left his mouth before Gwaine busted through the door. Merlin barely managed to turn before the knight stormed through the room and grabbed his shoulders. “Uh, good morning?”

“We think I found something!” Gwaine said. Merlin jerked. For a moment, he thought Gwaine was talking about Gaius’ search. But that didn’t sound right; Gwaine couldn’t read the ancient texts, and even if he could, he was not one to sit around. His method of gaining information was questioning people, pummeling it out of enemies. For two more moments, Merlin’s mind blanked. He had no idea what Gwaine could be talking about.

Then, as if from some long-lost dream, he remembered his conversation with his friend after the first night. His fears of his magic being used to harm Arthur, and his wish that there was some way to ensure it could never happen.

Suddenly heedless of Gwaine’s grip, Merlin leaned forward until their noses practically touched. “Really? What?”

* * *

Gaius scowled at the both of them. “Absolutely not.”

Merlin’s face fell. Gaius had something bubbling over the fire, the contents, smelly as they were, forgotten as the old physician glared at him. “Why not?”

“You are magic, Merlin. There is no part of you not intrinsically tied to the Old Religion. Do you really think separating yourself from such a tie wouldn’t cause irreparable harm?” Gaius wiped his hands on a cloth while Gwaine stiffened.

“I didn’t know about that,” Gwaine said. His hands clenched into fists.

“No one is quite like Merlin. It may well be that your source didn’t know.” Gaius sighed. “And it’s not as if many received the chance to survive long past being chained in this country. Thankfully, cold iron itself is not what keeps magic locked inside a person. You would need the enchantment, as well. So had you attempted this mad endeavor without the shackles locked inside the king’s vaults, you still would have a link to your magic.”

The words made Merlin’s face fall. “Then what do I do?” he asked. “I’m sleepy, and we’re no closer to an answer than before.”

“No,” Gaius said, then hesitated. “But there may be another way.”

Merlin grasped at the words with both hands. “What?”

Gwaine stepped a bit closer to him, his own gaze caught on Gaius. His hand curled around Merlin’s shoulder.

Instead of answering, Gaius motioned them toward the table. A couple of books sat open beside two baskets of herbs, and Merlin sat before those books, already skimming through the pages before him. Gwaine stood at the ready beside him.

At first, the words looked like another dead-end. They spoke of travel, wandering. But after a few moments, his eyes widened. “Wait – is this saying what I think it’s saying?”

Gaius nodded. “It’s a way for someone to traverse another’s dreams.”

The silence, as that sank in, lasted approximately one minute. “That’s brilliant!” Gwaine said. Merlin nearly jumped at the sound. Gwaine slapped him on the back, nearly sending him face-first into the table. “Isn’t that great? We can actually fight this thing!”

Merlin wasn’t so sure. “How? Would we even know where to start? Is the thing even _in_ my dreams, or just attacking me through them? And how close would the person have to be to me physically?” He eyed Gwaine. “And wouldn’t it just mean the person in my head would be in danger, in unfamiliar territory?”

“There are ways to circumvent some of that,” Gaius said. The old man leaned beside Merlin and pointed at sections of the page. “See here? The person entering your dream would have the same chance of altering it as the creature. If, say, you were using your magic in the dream, they could get you to stop. The person can be up to seven meters away – we can have you sleep in adjacent rooms, against the wall. As for the danger – well, that would be the choice of those willing to use this method.”

Merlin cast a knowing look to Gaius. The man had considered this option long before pointing it out to Merlin. The physician had always shown great caution, save for the moments when Merlin’s life was in danger. Then he became one of the most reckless, self-sacrificing people Merlin had ever known. “It’s not safe,” he said.

Gwaine’s hand rested once more on his shoulder. Merlin turned to him. The knight gave him a grin and squeezed. “Not for nothing, buddy, but you turning the castle into a smoking wreck isn’t exactly safe, either.” Merlin flinched. Only Gwaine’s steady hand kept him from ducking away from his friend. “We’re knights. We’re trained for this stuff. I, for one, volunteer.”

“But-”

“It’s settled,” Gaius said, snapping the book closed in front of Merlin’s face. “We’ll start the preparations.”

Merlin glared at him. “Aren’t you the one always telling me to be careful?”

“Now, Merlin,” the physician said, raising that eyebrow. The look was ruined by the tell-tale quirk of those lips. “How could I preach caution to someone who has clearly mastered it?”

Merlin gave Gaius a dirty look. Gwaine laughed.

“We should tell Arthur,” Gwaine said when he calmed down. “I’m sure he’d like to know about this.”

“Know about it?” Merlin said, grumbling as he stood. Gaius took the book, likely thinking Merlin might throw it out the window or something. He was inclined to do so. “We’ll have to chain him up to keep him from doing it himself.”

* * *

“I’ll go.”

Merlin groaned.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Gwaine said. The man had insisted on joining Merlin inside his and Arthur’s makeshift bedroom. He leaned now against the wall just beside the door, arms crossed as he watched Merlin stand before the bed.

Arthur, having only just returned from his meetings and a subsequent line of hearings in the throne room, threw off his cape and handed his crown to Merlin, who took it without a word. “Gwaine, you and the other knights are the best in the realm. Which has nothing to do with whether I’m going in or not.” Merlin reached out and undid the ties at Arthur’s neck, wrapping the crown around his arm so he could use both hands. Arthur stood still just long enough for Merlin to finish before moving away to toss off the shirt. Merlin took a moment to enjoy those back muscles rippling. Arthur turned to Gwaine the instant his thinner, less formal shirt was on. “I’ve been wanting to kill this thing for days.”

Merlin tensed. “You’ll be in danger,” he said. “You’re the _king._ ”

“Why, thank you, Merlin. I was unaware.” Arthur looked at his sword, then back at Gwaine. Merlin had clearly been dismissed from the conversation. “Will what we wear or hold translate to Merlin’s dreams? Will we have any sort of control over that?”

Gwaine shrugged. “Dunno. Gaius said he’d be here soon. Apparently he needed to put some things together.”

Merlin closed his eyes. He was sleepy, so sleepy the world was fading at its edges, even standing as he was in the middle of the room. He shifted, bit back a yawn, and watched the play of the candles around the room. One flickered hard enough for a line of black smoke to waft toward the ceiling. He paled.

“Merlin.”

He looked up to see Arthur’s gaze fixed on him. He made a small humming sound, then, thinking it over, said, “yes?”

Arthur looked at Merlin’s wrist. He looked down, too, only remembering the crown when he saw it. He made a noise of recognition and handed it over. Arthur’s lips thinned as he took it. Merlin yawned.

“So,” Gwaine said, enthusing so much it made Merlin squint at him, “we may be heading in to Merlin’s dreams with nothing but our skinnies. Sounds interesting, doesn’t it?”

Arthur squinted at Gwaine, as well. “If you’re so enamored of the idea, you can act as shield for the rest of us.”

Merlin paled even more. He leaned back, expecting a bedpost, only to fall onto his ass on the bed. It pulled both men’s attention back to him. “Us?” Merlin echoed, his voice faint.

“Of course, _Merlin_. This is finally something we can battle. You do know a battle needs knights, don’t you?”

Merlin’s mouth opened and closed. His fists clenched in the sheets. All around him, he saw the flicker of firelight. “You can’t be serious. Men must guard Camelot. _And you.”_

“We’re not leaving the country defenseless, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. Despite his tone, however, he sat carefully next to Merlin and placed a steady hand on his back. Forcing him to stay upright, awake, with a gentle touch. “But this thing is magical, and I and Gwaine alone may not be enough to stop it. If we cannot garner your assistance somehow, we much ensure that our efforts aren’t wasted.”

It was rational. It was even almost strategic. But the candlelight, the bright white bandages Gaius must have changed earlier in the day, made his hands shake. He took several deep breaths before being able to stop them from hitching. Arthur just let him work through it. Gwaine, after a few moments, quietly opened the door and stepped pointedly outside. Merlin plopped his head on Arthur’s shoulder. That warm hand slid up and around, curling over his shoulder and holding him close.

The truth was, if Merlin could be certain of any of this, he would have no trouble with Arthur taking this chance. After all, in normal circumstances, Merlin would be right there next to him, quietly ensuring his king came out of the ordeal with no more than a scrape or two. The other knights would also protect him, and together, all of them would come home to the castle, safe and sound. But this time, Arthur was going somewhere Merlin couldn’t follow. Somewhere where Merlin was not only a victim, but a prisoner. He couldn’t imagine what they would see, what they might face. Alone. Without him, without his magic to help them. What if the creature got him to attack Arthur? What if his magic was truly turned on Arthur?

He curled in a little tighter. His shoulders hunched. “I wish Gwaine’s cold iron could work. Even if it hurt.” Lightly, like a feather, he traced the line of bandages where they met Arthur’s skin. Arthur shivered. “If there was some way to limit my access to my magic–”

“Merlin, enough.” Arthur’s fingers squeezed around his shoulder so hard they almost hurt. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Merlin sighed. Of course he didn’t. Talk of Merlin injured was usually enough to illicit that response without it being hinted that Merlin would be harmed for Arthur’s sake. As if Arthur’s might would not be enough.

But it wouldn’t be. Merlin had tried to get Arthur to understand the level of his power, the things he could do. But Arthur always waved it off as if it was nothing. Nothing could convince him that Merlin wasn’t simply a bumbling fool with the added bonus of being a sorcerer. Perhaps that was always how Arthur would see him. “What about the fire?” he asked, trying to put aside that argument for the moment. Wanting to put off reality for another few minutes.

“An assassination attempt,” Arthur said. “It was either that or admitting your powers before I’ve gotten the laws banning sorcery annulled, or stating you’d been so negligent in your duties that you nearly got me killed.” Arthur moved his hand to Merlin’s head, scrubbing his hair into disarray before Merlin could say anything in response. Arthur crushed him back in place afterward, forcing Merlin to try to fix his hair with arms nearly locked to his sides. He huffed. “I told the council that you came to rescue me, at great risk to yourself.”

Merlin shuddered. “It was I who nearly killed you, Arthur. The last thing I should get is praise for trying to save you.”

“Considering the number of times you _did_ save me, only to get _no_ praise, consider this making up for lost opportunities.” Arthur didn’t let Merlin squirm back. He glared at the wall beside the bed, his fingers curled around Merlin. “I won’t have you claiming responsibility for what a creature has done to you. Not any more than I would hold the knights responsible for what Lamia had them do to you.”

Merlin flinched at the reminder. Arthur turned his head and kissed the curls he’d rumpled. “My magic is supposed to be for you,” he said.

He felt Arthur’s lips spread into a grin against the follicles of his hair. “Then let’s take it back.”

* * *

The preparations all circled around Merlin, whom Gaius had ordered into the bed as soon as he’d entered the room. It was hard to stay awake, even with the constant movements around him; more distracting than even that were the instructions Gaius gave the others, warning them that they would be dressed according only to what Merlin’s dream dictated, even though anything that happened in the dream would also happen to them in reality. Of course. It made every muscle in Merlin tense.

Gaius laid a circle of herbs and magic around the bed, needing Merlin’s help with a few of the incantations, but otherwise insisting on doing it himself. “Keep up your strength,” Gaius would say each time he offered to help. His tone of voice, however, said that Merlin’s magic may not be under his control, even during waking hours. It made Merlin’s anxiety amp up even higher.

Arthur, for his part, went and grabbed Percival and Leon. Though Leon was their go-to whenever Arthur was away, Arthur wanted his experience against magic at his side. In response, the council would be left to figure itself out until Arthur could return. Hopefully, nothing horrible would happen, and aside from perhaps needing some sleep after their efforts, he would be back in action in no time.

Merlin didn’t expect it to be so easy.

Leon sent a few short glances Merlin’s way, then turned to Gaius. “What is it you’re doing?”

“This circle will keep Merlin and whoever steps within inside,” Gaius explained, speaking before Merlin could. The old man bent low, his back cracking slightly, and spread a few more dried dustings of what smelled like polygonatum. _“_ _Insegla_ _þ_ _wi_ _ð_ _innan,”_ Gaius muttered, over and over. Carefully, with little more than a breath, Merlin did the same, letting his magic surge within him. It didn’t feel out of his control. He breathed a little easier. Gaius came and spoke more words above him, and Merlin felt the weight of sleep tug at him. He frowned and fought it off.

The show of magic made only Leon slightly wary; Percival had hardly reacted at all when Merlin had finally admitted to his magic, making him wonder if perhaps Lancelot had made mention of a friend of his who possessed magic back before he’d returned to Camelot. Gwaine had been the one to laugh and demand Merlin “do something incredible.”

Elyan came into the room for a moment, looking gravely perturbed at Gaius’ ministrations, but not speaking on them. He, like Leon, had trouble with Merlin’s magic still. “What am I to do, then?” Elyan asked, huffing slightly at the sight of the others gathered within the room. “Sit and twiddle my thumbs?”

Arthur smirked. “You have the laudable duty of ensuring the council is kept in line come morning. And to make sure, with Boro’s and Kay’s help, that all of us live through this.”

Merlin snorted. From the expression on Elyan’s face, he knew he’d drawn the short stick.

“It may not be glamorous, but I’m being very serious,” Arthur said. “If for some reason we fail, or this takes longer than usual, or if I and Leon are hurt, it will fall to you to ensure the talks on magic proceed.”

Elyan straightened where he stood. “Of course.” With a nod, he stepped away from the room. Merlin heard a few footsteps before they left his range of hearing. Elyan was likely checking the rooms Arthur and the others would lie within, pushed tight against the walls on either side of the room Merlin slept in, before the others went to sleep. And afterwards? Would Elyan, Boro, and Kay be enough to defend Merlin and his sleeping friends? Would they be enough if his magic went out of control again? And what would happen come morning, whether Merlin’s magic made a reappearance or not?

What would happen to Arthur and his friends?

The fear helped keep him awake, even lying dormant on his back in the bed, and he watched the others slowly snuff the candles in the room as Gaius beckoned them outside. “Go to sleep, Merlin,” Gaius said, his face hidden in darkness, the only light now seeping in from the hallway outside. “With any luck, this night will see the last of your unnatural dreams. All of you, come with me. I’ll prepare you for your journey.”

Merlin gaze sought out Arthur, his back heading out of eyesight as he did as Gaius told and headed to the room to the right of Merlin’s own. His heart hammered.

Still, when Gaius closed the door, Merlin did as told. As soon as he closed his eyes, the magic he’d been fighting swept over him and pulled him under.

* * *

The hood on his head felt heavy.

Merlin breathed deeply, taking in the wide expanse of grass around him. Tufts of dandelions blew on the wind, their flowering cousins dotting the landscape to the treeline beyond the hill. He looked up to the white-blue sky. He lowered the hood of his robe, allowing himself the freedom of wind through his hair, around his ears. He could smell the grass, the flowers, the very essence of the earth. His magic sparked in his hands, echoing the pulse of the world beneath him.

To his right, far below the slopes of the hill, the forest banked enough for the turrets of Camelot to wave in the wind.

Freedom. It was never truly a thing for him.

He’d lived in Camelot for years. He’d catered to a man he’d truly believed would bring peace for mages and a better future for Albion. But where was that future? He’d waited so long, and it didn’t even exist. Useless squabbling in the council, empty promises that maybe, eventually, things might change.

“Nothing’s changed, has it?”

He turned. There, by his side, was Thoren, his long black hair flying wildly in the wind. The druid who had taken him in when he’d finally given up on destiny, on Albion. On Arthur. “No,” he said, looking back at those turrets, those red flags swaying lightly in a wind of their own. “Nothing.”

They made their way to the castle. Merlin hadn’t told Arthur why he left, only that he had to. Arthur likely thought he’d gone to his mother, or had needed some time away. He wouldn’t be surprised, even if he were to see Merlin striding into his bedroom in the middle of the night.

“We need to end this stalemate,” Thoren said. Merlin nodded.

This wasn’t like him, he thought as he made his way down the hill. He was heading to Camelot, to his friends. He was going to assassinate Arthur. He hadn’t even been willing to assassinate Uther.

Thoren clapped his shoulder. Merlin turned to him and smiled. “Don’t worry,” Merlin said, reaching up to pat the hand resting on him. “I won’t hesitate.”

Thoren, brows furrowed, just nodded and dropped his hand. “Then let’s go.”

The man’s green eyes gazed out to Camelot, his lips pulled into a moue of a frown. Merlin couldn’t imagine what was in the man’s mind. All he knew was that, if he left things alone, this man would never know an end to his own fear. The fear Merlin knew intimately, the fear he’d felt until Arthur had accepted him, until the knights had acknowledged who he truly was.

Arthur had been working toward a better, more peaceful ending. Should he really be out here?

They arrived at the entrance to Camelot. The walls rose high before them, the entrance guarded by two knights. Merlin recognized them, even as he lifted his hood so they couldn’t do the same with him. He raised a single hand. _“_ _Besl_ _æ_ _pa_ _þ.”_

The knights slumped in sleep before they could do more than grab the hilts of their swords. Their armor clanked slightly as they fell to the sides of the road, but otherwise, the night remained still. “Just sleep?” Thoren said, eyeing the men as Merlin moved to pass. “And if they wake before we escape?”

“My spell isn’t so weak,” Merlin said in response, not pausing. Gregory and Frederick would be out at least until the morning. “And sleeping knights aren’t nearly as suspicious as dead ones.”

He heard Thoren stopping beside the bodies. He turned in time to see the man stabbing Frederick in the back with his own dagger. Merlin’s lips thinned. When the druid stood, he met Merlin’s angry glare. “The next round of guards will come by in a few hours. If we aren’t out by then, we’ll need as few knights as possible.”

Merlin disagreed, but he only nodded and continued.

The world was quiet. He and Thoren hurried through the town, keeping to the shadows. Only a few knights dotted the path, each easily dealt with. Despite the fact that it wasn’t necessary, Thoren would kill, either with blade or with sorcery, every knight Merlin put to sleep. He wondered if he shouldn’t be more upset about it. He knew these men. Had joked with them. Had called one or two of them his friends.

They reached the castle. He recognized the steps, the stone, the loud flicker of the torches, perpetually lit, on either side of the entrance, left invitingly open. He’d always worried for Arthur’s safety with these open doors. Couldn’t the man be a little more concerned about his safety?

He walked up to the knights with a wave. They reached for their swords, but hesitated at the greeting. “Who goes?”

Another sleep spell, and the two men slid down the walls of the castle to the ground. Merlin continued on as Thoren muttered a spell under his breath. Boro and Hannard were small prices to pay. He ascended the stairs.

Steps raced up behind him, and he grimaced. Suddenly stealth was gone, his feet moving of their own accord up the stairs, past Gaius’ chambers and up through the winding halls to Arthur’s room. He stared at the door, his heart thundering in his ears. His blood roared. His magic rebelled. Thoren had been lost somewhere down below; this was his alone to accomplish. It had always been; otherwise, his decision to end this meant nothing.

He opened the door.

Arthur slept in his bed. Merlin had expected him there; where else would he be in the middle of the night? He’d also nearly expected George to be within, as well, studiously working through the night, perhaps never sleeping, his blind devotion almost as scary as his sense of humor. But no; Arthur was alone, and this was the perfect opportunity.

He walked past the four-poster bed and its posts, placed himself between Arthur and the window. Normally, he would be throwing those curtains back and greeting the day cheerily, making Arthur scowl. Perhaps leaning over him and kissing him. His heart beat faster. He lifted his hand.

“ _Heofonfýr, cume to min brád.”_ Lightning sparked into the palm of his hand. Small sparks of light danced up his fingers. He stared at the lights as they reflected off of Arthur’s sleeping face. Then he leaned over the bed.

“Merlin!”

He paused. His hood was still up; no one should know who he was. He turned to the door.

Gwaine ran through the doorway, his hair wild. He wore his armor, his cape billowing behind him as he raced into the room. “Merlin, stop!”

He looked down at the bed. Arthur’s eyes glittered up at him. He hissed in a breath. If he was going to do this, it had to be now. He reached out.

“Merlin!” A hand wrapped around his wrist, tight enough to grind the bones together. He glared at his old friend, his eyes flaring gold. “Don’t! You could start another fire or something!” Then the man backed up, hands up, in a show of peace.

The lightning still crackled in his hand. He curled his fingers into a fist. Start a fire? The lightning in his hand would shoot through Arthur, perhaps scorching the place where he touched, but otherwise doing nothing more than a normal lightning strike. It would kill Arthur, but nothing – no one – else would be harmed.

He thought of how Arthur’s body would react to the touch of such a current and shuddered. His body would convulse. His arms and legs would spasm. Why would he want to do that to Arthur?

“Merlin. Do you remember why we’re here?” We? He searched the room, but he couldn’t see anyone else. “Do you remember what you asked from me a couple of days ago?” Gwaine inched closer. He’d already been in range to grab him, to attack him. Now he was close enough for Merlin to feel his body heat. But if Merlin gave up his position, he would lose his vantage point over Arthur. He couldn’t afford to flinch. His hand shook; the heat of lightning shivered up his arm. “You asked me to cull your magic. To find a way to lock it up so you wouldn’t hurt Arthur.”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue – then remembered. His brow furrowed. He thought he could see himself standing in the castle halls, remembered some dead weight in his chest. Arthur, in the bed, didn’t move, even though he had to see Merlin’s hand. He looked at the man, at those glittering eyes, and wondered why he didn’t love Arthur anymore. Shouldn’t a man willing to chain himself love the man he wants to save?

He _did_ love Arthur. But he couldn’t feel it anymore.

“Listen, buddy.” Gwaine touched his shoulder. The weight felt different from Thoren’s, but he couldn’t say why. “I trust you with my life. Do you trust me?”

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it. Yes. He did. He didn’t want to hurt Gwaine. It was Arthur he was after. Gwaine was his friend. And if Gwaine trusted him with his life, how could Merlin not spare him? How could he attack someone who believed Merlin would never hurt him? “I… trust you,” he said, and saw Gwaine’s face break into a small grin.

“All right. Then I am begging you to listen when I tell you that you don’t want to kill Arthur.”

Sounds of crashing echoed down the hall. It called Merlin’s attention to the door, to the fact that Thoren had not returned. While he was talking with Gwaine, was Thoren fighting for his life?

“Merlin. Please listen to me.”

“You’re killing another one,” he said, scowling at his so-called friend. He should have known better. Who in Camelot ever trusted a sorcerer? “Another sorcerer.” He backed away. A single step. Just enough to give him leverage for an attack.

“We’re defending you,” Gwaine said, and though the man took in Merlin’s new stance with recognition in his eyes, he didn’t try to stop him. “We would never betray you. Especially Arthur. He’s so smitten it’s sickening.” The man tried another smile.

Arthur loved him. That was why the talks began. They shouldn’t have started because of him, but he couldn’t change that. And if knowing someone like Merlin possessed magic made Arthur rethink its role in Camelot, he couldn’t be upset about it. Perhaps Arthur had needed to be shown by first-hand experience what it was like to fear losing someone he cared about to his own laws.

Merlin loved Arthur. And he wanted him dead.

He struggled to breathe. Why couldn’t he feel that love? He knew he loved Arthur; it was simply a fact, knowledge in his mind, just like the knowledge of herbs and medicines, of how to polish Arthur’s armor. He loved Arthur.

Something crashed outside Arthur’s rooms. He reached out, held his hand before him, and glared at Gwaine. “Back away. I don’t want to hurt you.” Louder, he shouted, “Thoren?!”

“Merlin! Quickly! Do it!”

The voice sounded close, so close it was almost in his ear. He hitched a breath. That was right. They’d come not for themselves, but for all mages. This wasn’t about him anymore; he’d gotten tired of waiting for sorcerers to have rights. These men may pretend to accept him, but unless they really did something, unless they actually changed Camelot, it was nothing but useless exceptionism. What of all the other sorcerers still waiting for the moment they’re exposed? What of them wishing they could use their magic to help themselves, to save someone’s life, and yet having to continue walking for fear of finding their heads on chopping blocks?

He grimaced and reached out for the body still watching in its bed.

On a shout, Gwaine reached out and grabbed his wrist. On another shout, the man convulsed and fell.

Merlin’s eyes widened. He yanked his hand back, stumbled away from the body. Gwaine’s dark curls spread wide on the floor, worse than blood. He could hardly breathe.

Finish the job. He should finish the job, but all he could do was stare at the body of his friend. The horrible numbness in him finally dissipated long enough for a rising well of horror. Gwaine had reached out on his own – it hadn’t been Merlin’s actions; it had been an accident; _it wasn’t supposed to happen_ – but it did and it was because of him. Because of his magic. Gwaine was dead and it was his fault.

Gwaine had been right. _He’d_ been right. He needed to hide away his magic, to have it taken away from him. No wonder Arthur had stonewalled the acceptance of magic; no wonder it sat in stalemate in the council proceedings. Who would want someone like him roaming free?

Something clattered. There was the sound of swords, then footsteps just outside the bedroom. Merlin looked up to find Thoren, sweaty and panting, stumbling into the room. “Merlin!” His gaze turned to the bed, where Arthur still lay, unmoving. Not even getting up to help Gwaine – Gwaine, whose body, as Merlin looked back down, had vanished. He paled. “Quickly, before they arrive! Kill Arthur!”

He reached out and touched the body in the bed. Arthur convulsed where he lay, his body flopping like a fish. Merlin hadn’t planned on looking, had turned his face away, yet he couldn’t help but see. His hand had touched Arthur so may times. Tying his shirts, fitting his armor, shoving him from an enemy’s blow. Tracing paths over that tanned skin until his fingers slipped on Arthur’s sweat. Until his short nails scratched new trails.

Now his touch brought smoke. Now his touch brought sparks of light shooting across Arthur’s skin, singeing his clothing black, turning the coverlet into a curling mass of ash. He yanked his hand back, his eyes widening.

“Merlin!”

He jerked, full-bodied, and turned once more to the door. Behind Thoren stood Percival – and behind him, shoving his way inside, a very angry looking Arthur.

Merlin shook his head and moved away. He looked down to the bed, only to see scorched blankets and nothing more. He hitched in a breath. “Am I going mad?” he asked.

“Magic,” Thoren said, and it seemed so obvious once it was spoken. But who other than him would try to protect Arthur?

And, if there was someone else with magic who wanted to protect him, was he right to believe he needed to kill him?

Arthur was still alive. He was supposed to kill him.

“Kill him,” Thoren said. “Quickly! Before he and his knights can counter!”

Merlin raised his hand. Arthur stood in his own armor, his cape beautifully crimson on his shoulders, his sword in his hand. The moment Merlin raised his hand, Arthur’s hand squeezed tight on his sword. Of course. Ready to kill the evil sorcerer. He’d known all along that Arthur would never truly accept him–

Arthur dropped his sword. It clattered along the stone floor, banged against Percival’s foot. Arthur held up his hands. Like Gwaine. “Merlin. This is a dream, remember? It’s not real.”

Merlin scowled. His hand shook. “What are you talking about?”

Arthur opened his mouth as if to continue spewing nonsense, but a nudge from Percival had him pausing. “This man is controlling you,” Arthur said, pointing to Thoren. Thoren looked between Merlin and Arthur, his black hair spilling around his face, his wide green eyes nearly hidden behind the furrow of his wide brow. “Think about it, Merlin. Would you truly be all right with killing me? Killing my knights, leaving Camelot without a ruler?”

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it. He hadn’t considered the fact that there would be no king without Arthur. Would Morgana take the throne? That sounded wretched, worse even than the horrible, endless stalemate he faced now. And he was certain he loved Arthur. Shouldn’t he be horrified at the thought of killing someone he loved?

He looked to Thoren. He trusted the man with his life. Thoren had…

He frowned. How had he met Thoren?

“You’re angry with him!” Thoren hissed. Merlin tried to focus on him, but the druid wasn’t there. It was… his own mind talking. “Remember!”

He shook his head. The room was empty. It was him and Arthur and Percival, and behind them, the scruffy brown hair of Leon. Leon made a surprised sound and ran off. Percival, after a short motion from Arthur, did the same.

“Merlin.”

He couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. Couldn’t tell what he wanted and what he feared. He thought of Gwaine, his body spasming around Merlin’s. With a shout, he shook his head. No. He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t want to use his magic to kill. But he couldn’t trust himself. He yanked on his magic, roughly. Something cold and thick clamped around his wrists. He opened his eyes to see cold metal wrapped from the base of his hand up, tight enough that it didn’t move even when he raised his hands. Chains clinked lightly as he moved. He stared at the chains for a long time before he spoke. “You promised to accept me, magic and all.” His heart clogged his throat until it was hard to breathe. Every inch of Arthur looked familiar to him. Suddenly all of his feelings for the man flooded him, as if there had never been any sort of block. He felt almost crippled by it. This was the man he’d laughed with, cried with, fought with. The man who made horrible jokes and feared shows of affection and fought anyone who dared threaten Merlin. The man who had so much honor it seemed to shine in his eyes, on his skin. The man who hadn’t accepted Merlin’s magic, after all. Merlin would be turned away. Exiled? Not killed, certainly. But not accepted.

“I accept every part of you. Your idiocy. Your lies. Your magic.”

“You promised to change the laws _months_ ago. Months, Arthur!” His hand shook before him. Magic flared in his eyes, uncontrolled, only for the cold iron to flare suddenly. The magic banked out. “Meanwhile, I hide still, having to balance who knows and who doesn’t, who’ll kill me on sight if they catch me being me!”

Arthur flinched. That small movement stopped the raging storm within him. He expected excuses, reasons why it couldn’t be done so quickly. Reasons why they had to be patient. Perhaps even blame, as if the council was responsible for the wait, not him. Could Merlin truly expect him to just go against their wishes, their concerns? But nothing.

“How long do sorcerers need to fear existing?” he pressed, his voice dropping. His shoulders slumped. “How long will druids have to hide like rats? And what about me?” He lifted his chin. The onslaught of emotion within him after so long feeling nothing left his eyes watering. “How long am I going to have to pretend that I’m nothing but a fucktoy for you?”

Arthur flinched harder then, his breath escaping him in a whoosh. “Merlin.”

He didn’t want to feel this way. He just wanted all of this to be over. If he couldn’t do what had to be done, then what had been the point of all this? He stared at the clasps on his wrists. His fingers curled.

“You’re right, Merlin. Of course you’re right.”

Merlin nearly choked on his own tongue. The slight jerk caused the tears in his eyes to fall. Arthur unhooked the cape around his shoulders and tossed it aside. He chucked off his gauntlets, fumbled with the clasp of his vambrace. “What are you doing?”

“You’re right. But even though you’re right, you would still never do this.” The man seemed to make the knot even tighter. Arthur snarled at the thing. It made Merlin’s lips twitch. He tugged some more, then yanked until it tore. He threw it aside, as well. “You would never kill innocent men. You would never try to kill me. You’ve seen me when I’ve been controlled by something. If it were me doing any of this, no matter how provoked, what would you think of me?”

He looked to Arthur’s vambrace. Despite his fury, it was in him to go up and fix the poor, broken thing. Why would he do that? Why would he put himself so close to Arthur, let himself walk into danger? Why didn’t he fear Arthur’s blade?

“Merlin.” Arthur waved his hand slightly. His unarmed hand. Because he’d thrown his sword to the ground. Was that why he wasn’t afraid? “What would you think of me if I suddenly went out and attacked a bunch of druids?”

Anger, and fury. Hurt. And fear. And with it all, denial. It wouldn’t happen. Arthur had grown up, had learned from his mistakes. He was a man of honor. He wouldn’t just kill innocent people, not when he was king to choose.

Merlin trusted him enough for that?

“Please.” The sound of the plea, never spoken from those royal lips, made Merlin jerk again. His eyes burned from the tears as they fell once more. “Trust me. That druid is controlling you.”

Controlling him? Why? He put one hand to his head. The other trailed after it, linked as it was through the chains. Hadn’t Arthur said something about a dream? Why did that sound familiar? “A creature,” he said, the words coming to him as if from a great distance. “A creature in my dreams.”

“That’s right.” Arthur sounded relieved. The king grabbed Merlin’s arms. It forced Merlin to place his hand on Arthur’s shoulder when he made to lower it from his temple, and Arthur bridged the gap between them to kiss him. The feel of Arthur’s hands, his lips, felt different from Thoren’s, just as Gwaine’s had. It felt solid. He whimpered, his fingers clenching tight against Arthur’s pauldron. His other hand, caught between them, curled inward, unresisting.

This bedroom had been destroyed. It was another of those odd ‘facts’ that filtered into his brain, something he knew to be true despite evidence to the contrary. He’d felt this sensation before, countless times. In dreams. This was the feeling of knowing, while in a dream, that something didn’t add up.

He was dreaming.

“Arthur,” he gasped, and wrapped his arms as best he could around his lover. The chain smacked against the king’s forehead before wrapped behind his neck. Once again, he’d gone to kill Arthur with his magic. Once again, he’d tried to harm the man he loved. He’d watched Arthur’s body bounce in his bed, watched those glittering eyes roll up into his head. He’d singed Arthur’s skin black. “I’m sorry,” he said, even though this Arthur hadn’t seen what he’d done.

“It’s all right,” Arthur said. He leaned up and kissed Merlin’s brow. His hair brushed against Merlin’s cheek. “Percival and Leon went after the man you were with. Chances are he’s the creature who’s been hurting you.”

There was that protectiveness again. Merlin looked at Arthur’s arm. The armor had once only shown Arthur’s usual chainmail and shirt, but now Merlin thought he could see a flash of white. Because now, he supposed, he knew the bandages should be there.

“Let’s get going.”

They untangled themselves with some effort, and Arthur bent down to pick up his sword. Just moments before, Merlin would have considered the motion an act of aggression. Now he simply turned at Arthur’s side and followed him out of the room and through the hall. Something shrieked. The walls of the castle trembled. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and moved as if to protect him from a blow. From the thin corridor leading down to the servant’s staircase, the tell-tale sounds of battle could be heard. Merlin looked around, expecting others to be near, and saw only vague shapes and shadows. Arthur, meanwhile, had already pushed himself forward as if to be of use in such a cramped space.

Merlin grabbed him back. “Bring it out here!” he shouted. He heard only a grunt in response.

The corridor was unnaturally dark, even for the servant’s hall; he could hear the clash of metal on something, could hear the grunts and shouts of Leon and Percival – though, when he tried to understand what they were saying, it came out as little more than garbled fury. He paced nervously from foot to foot, his hands up to prepare to shield the others the instant he saw something – only to realize he still wore the chains. He tried to make them leave, but they stayed. He blanched.

When finally something did jump out from that tiny hallway, it was little more than a flash of something black and white. Small, in a suit he’d never seen before, a patchwork of silk and cotton and lace. The thing fell to one knee before them, only a couple of feet from Arthur’s blade. It looked up and glared at them. Its pupils, barely visible below a strange black hat, were slit like a cat’s. It hissed at them, and when it did, sharp rows of shark-like teeth glistened like blades.

Merlin curled his hands into fists.

“You!” it snapped. Its voice was little more than a rasp in his mind, yet it reverberated like an earthquake. He clutched his head. “Stay out of this.”

His knees buckled. On a gasp, he fell to the ground. His hands slammed into the stone, barely keeping him on his knees. The chain rattled like claws against the stone. Arthur moved to stand completely before him, using his own body as a shield. A fire burned in Merlin’s chest. He looked up in time to see where the binding magic was originating from. “Arthur,” he gritted, “the hat.”

Arthur launched forward. The creature barely had the chance to glare poison at Merlin before it had to hop away from Arthur’s sword. Before the swing even half-completed, Arthur bunched the muscles in his arms and swung again. The creature hunched, skin like old leather, spine sharp against its bony back, and leaped away once more. Merlin called his magic to him, only to feel the Iron clamp tighter around his wrists and the binding fire in his chest rage. He gasped.

Arthur chased the odd creature as it ran. Merlin struggled to stand. Percival ran up beside him, bleeding heavily from a wound above his eye, and scooped him up like a damsel. Merlin hissed in a breath, seized momentarily in place, and collapsed against his friend’s arms. Leon ran after Arthur, his steps marred by a heavy limp.

The creature ran down the main steps sideways, his unnatural eyes stuck on Arthur as he followed, sword ready at his side, down to the main hall. Where there had once been people, there was now nothing but bodies. Corpses of knights, nobles, servants, all piled together on the sides of the hall. He saw the unmistakable curl of Gwen’s hair, Miriam’s stunning dress. Water ran from the throne room, puddled around a graying body so familiar it made him sick.

Arthur ran to the entrance of the castle, ensuring the creature couldn’t go that way for an escape. It stood up on its hind legs and hissed. “You should not even be here! This is my space!” It slashed out with a hand, but retracted it the moment Arthur swung again. In an instant, it took the form of a middle-aged woman, her blond hair pulled back in intricate braids. She smiled full-lipped at Arthur. “My son.”

Arthur froze.

Merlin seized again where he lay, Percival’s fingers curled around him. It felt as if something was tugging at the strings of his magic, feeding on it like a fish on a line. With a snarl, he yanked back.

The woman in front of Arthur yelped.

Arthur roared. It was animalistic, the sound of something hunted and hurt and vicious. Percival held Merlin tight as Arthur charged, sweeping his sword from his hip up. The tip of the blade caught the woman in her shoulder, knocked her back into the throne room. Her feet tripped on the pool of water. She fell to her ass with a splash.

Arthur stood over her, an avenging angel. Merlin thought he saw the glint of the crown on Arthur’s head, saw a ray of light somehow pierce through the castle stonework to halo his golden hair. He saw the muscles in Arthur’s arms ripple, roll like mountains, as he lifted his sword high. “My mother,” Arthur said, “is not a memory for you to steal.”

“Arthur, love–!”

Arthur stabbed her in the chest.

Merlin snapped awake.

The bedroom was dark. He struggled to get up, to lift the covers and slide to the edge of the bed. Once more, he found himself unable to move.

Arthur. Was he still trapped inside Merlin’s mind somehow? What about Percival? Leon?

Oh, gods. Gwaine?

Something moved, scrabbled around beyond the edges of the bed. Merlin turned his head to look and found his limbs willing to move once more. Something moved in the darkness, a hunched form in the night’s shadows. It turned to him and hissed. He shivered and scooted until his legs hung over the side of the bed. _“Gefreojgt!”_

Nothing happened. Something painful tore into the skin beneath his hands. He looked down to find iron shackles wrapped around his wrists. Chains swung between them, latching his arms together. The creature turned back at him, caught sight of the iron, and grinned. Those shark-like teeth spread across its face, its lips stretched unnaturally wide. It lunged.

Merlin scrambled back on the bed, his feet kicking the comforter away as he backed up against the headboard. The thing’s claws scraped long gashes into the comforter, barely missing his foot. He kicked at it. The glancing blow sent the creature onto its side, and he finally managed to get off the bed. His head spun. He dropped to his knees. His back hit the magical barrier.

He heard sounds from outside and forced himself to raise his head. “Arthur!”

He wasn’t surprised to see his king leading his knights into the room. The man looked positively furious. What caught him off-guard and left him reeling was Percival, directly behind Arthur, his right eye closed beneath the steady stream of blood sliding down his temple. Behind him came Leon, barely able to stand on his left leg. Gaius, of all people, helped steady him as he hurried inside.

He couldn’t see Gwaine.

“Arthur,” he said again, even as his arms shook with the effort of picking himself up. “It’s–”

Gaius gasped. “An alp!” he said. “I should have known. My king, the hat–”

But Arthur had already stepped forward, daring to enter Gaius’ magical seal. He lifted his sword and swung, once, down upon the creature. Merlin felt his chest dip, just for an instant, as if the creature was trying to do to him here what it had done to him in his dream. Whether it would have succeeded or not was beyond him – with his swing, Arthur cleaved the creature’s hat from its head. With his second swing, he rent the thing from armpit to shoulder. A spray of dark blood preceded the drop of the creature’s head and arm. The rest of its body slumped to the side.

Arthur stepped over the creature’s remains and made for Merlin’s side. Merlin tried on a smile as Arthur touched his shoulder, but all he could think about was Gwaine. He felt tears burst in his eyes. Arthur knelt before him. “Gwaine,” he said.

For some reason, it didn’t seem like that was what Arthur had been expecting. His face scrunched. “I didn’t see him after I sent him after you,” Arthur said, slowly. He looked at Gaius as the man leaned Leon back against the wall. “Where is he?”

Gaius turned very slowly. A wordless sound clawed out of Merlin’s throat. Arthur wrapped him close as if to shield him. From the fact that he’d killed his best friend. “What happened?” Arthur asked.

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but the words got stuck. He shook his head.

“Gwaine is resting,” Gaius said. Merlin jerked. “It seems he was grievously injured while inside Merlin’s dream. He awoke far before the rest of you and fell almost immediately unconscious.”

“Percival,” Arthur said, and without anything more, Percival nodded and left the room. He would check on Gwaine and report back to them. “Gaius. You named that… thing,” he said, indicating the corpse and the smell of its unnatural blood as it spread across the floor. “What is it? What did it do?”

“It is an alp, my lord. It feeds on a person’s life energy through their dreams.” Gaius looked Leon over for a moment more, then pushed himself up to his feet. His gaze roamed over Arthur and Merlin, his gaze catching sight of the cold iron. He paled. “Merlin! When did you put those on?”

The old man raced forward,carefully skidding his foot over the herbs to break the barrier that held Merlin and the alp trapped within. Arthur looked down at Merlin’s hands, gently lifting them up for Gaius’ inspection. He frowned. “You put these on in the dream,” he said.

“He must have called them to him as he slept,” Gaius said, frowning. “We need the keys.”

“I’ll get them,” Leon said. Gaius turned on him.

“You will do no such thing. I’ll have a servant fetch one of the other knights. They can get the key from the vaults, which Arthur’s blessing.” Arthur quickly nodded, and Gaius stared down at Merlin, his expression severe. “We need to get them off quickly. Merlin is more magic than man; those things will do him irreparable harm.”

“I had to,” Merlin croaked. He felt dizzy. He’d thought it from the spell, but perhaps it was something worse. “I hurt Gwaine. And Arthur...”

They all went silent then, Merlin huddled on the floor, cold and shivering and miserable. It took several minutes for Gaius to call for a servant, then even longer for one to fetch Kay. Arthur ordered him to the vaults and, unwilling to leave Merlin’s side, sent Gaius with the keys to let the man in. Arthur held Merlin close as they waited. By the time Boro returned, Merlin had already thrown up twice and was close to passing out. Arthur charged up to the edge of the door and grabbed the keys, barely thanking Boro and Gaius before racing back and unlocking the cuffs. Merlin threw up again as his magic raced through him once more. Something like a warm wind pushed away the horrible cold he’d felt before. For the first time since he’d woken up, he was able to take a deep breath.

Gaius looked Merlin up and down. He cleaned the vomit from his lips and checked his eyes. Only when he deemed them relatively unharmed did he speak again, as if they hadn’t ever stopped. “Alps needn’t feed on magic,” he said, as if thinking aloud. He moved Merlin’s head from side to side, nodded once in satisfaction, and let Arthur stop his hovering and return to Merlin’s side. “Either it found itself feeding on your magic as well as your life, Merlin, or, more likely, it needed to weaken you in order to feed properly. What better way than to make you fear your own magic? And what better way to do that than to pervert it into your worst nightmare?” The old man came to stand in front of Merlin. “He made you a victim, Merlin. There’s no shame in that.”

Merlin shook his head. “I tried to kill Arthur. I k-killed Gwaine. The others...” He looked to Leon, busy leaning his head back, eyes closed, focusing on breathing through his pain.

“It was a battle.” Leon opened his eyes long enough to meet Merlin’s gaze. “In a few weeks, I’ll be well again.”

A battle. Merlin wanted to say it was one that shouldn’t have happened, but if the alp hadn’t targeted him, it would have targeted someone else. He couldn’t help but wonder if the creature would have gone after Arthur. Merlin had, after all, taken to sleeping with the king in his room. Perhaps Arthur had been its original target.

He struggled once more to his feet. Arthur had to help him up; he still wasn’t steady on his own. “And Gwaine?” he asked.

Percival knocked on the open door. He nodded. Merlin tried to go, thinking to check Gaius’ rooms, maybe, or the rooms adjacent. Instead he nearly collapsed to the floor. “Merlin! Would you stop for one second? Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to have trained with Gaius?”

His head pounded. He felt like blown glass, twisted and forced into an unnatural shape. His breathing, though deep, was heavy, as if he’d been running for miles and had only just been given the chance to stop.

Arthur sighed. “Let Percival get Leon down to Gaius’ chambers, then we’ll follow.”

Leon. Merlin winced at the reminder. He should have been thinking about his other friends. None of them seemed to have gotten out of the encounter uninjured. Merlin had been so stuck on protecting Arthur that he’d let Leon and Percival get hurt. And Gwaine, who had merely been trying to stop him…

Percival went to Leon’s side as Gaius wrapped up Leon’s leg with the knight’s own shirt, finding some point of pain near the knee. Leon spoke softly, telling Gaius of an attack by the creature that slammed directly into the side of his kneecap. It didn’t cut, but it hurt badly enough to make walking difficult. In the end, Percival did indeed have to help Leon stand, and they hobbled out the door with Gaius close behind them.

Arthur stayed with Merlin, keeping him close throughout the experience. The scent of death began to permeate the room, but neither of them was comfortable yet with moving. Instead they listened to the crickets and contented themselves with the wisps of light that slid through the thick curtains over the windows. Arthur was warm at Merlin’s side, his arm strong and steady around his shoulders. He leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder and, in halting detail, told Arthur what he’d done to Gwaine. Arthur rubbed his arm, trying to be as soothing as he could. But he could offer no words of comfort, and in the end, they both sat stiffly on the edge of the bed for several more moments, until finally Arthur said, “all right. Try to stand again.”

It was much easier this time around; his legs cooperated when he ordered them to hold his weight. His knees locked for a short instant, but before Arthur could do more than grab him tight, he managed to steady himself. They made their way out of the circle, passing through it as if there’d never been anything there to begin with, and headed for the door. They barely reached it before Percival peeked his head inside. Seeing Merlin making his own progress, he simply moved aside, ready to help Arthur with Merlin’s weight should he fail.

Their progress down the hall was slow. Knights stood posted along their path; Boro and Kay stood just down the hall, their lips pursed as they watched Arthur move until their king nodded at them. It took a minute for Merlin to walk up to them, but when he did, he finally felt like he might be under his own control once more. He gave Arthur a grin and stood straight. There was hesitation in Arthur’s withdrawal, but he allowed Merlin his freedom and let go. His balance betrayed him for only an instant before he recovered. Their journey then was much faster. Kay and Boro stayed behind.

Merlin started hurrying the moment he felt he could rely on his equilibrium. Arthur kept apace, Percival a silent sentinel beside them, until finally they reached Gaius’ rooms. Then, suddenly, Merlin froze.

Percival had nodded. That meant Gwaine was alive. But in what condition? He’d been _electrocuted_. People didn’t just pop back up after that. What if there was permanent damage? What if, like a farmer he’d known in a neighboring village, Gwaine’s mind had been affected? What if he hadn’t killed his friend, but instead given him a fate worse than death?

Arthur sighed and pushed open the door.

Merlin expected Leon and Gaius to be clustered together over by the table, Leon sipping down a horrible herbal tea while Gaius wrapped a bandage over the ointment he would have slathered on the knight’s knee. He expected to find Gwaine lying still as a corpse on Gaius’ bed, still in his nightclothes, his face pale. He expected all of these things. And he got them – sort of.

Elyan was in the room, and suddenly it made so much sense that he hadn’t seen the young man with Boro and Kay; he sat beside the bed, watching over Gwaine as he – perfectly conscious – groaned and snarled and muttered something awful under his breath. Gaius and Leon were exactly where Merlin had expected them to be, only Leon had already finished his tea and had joined Gaius in quiet conversation. All of them stopped and turned as Merlin, Arthur, and Percival entered. Percival made his silent way to Gwaine’s side, taking the far end so that Merlin could sit without having to maneuver around the bed.

Whatever Gwaine had been fussing about, he quieted the instant his gaze caught sight of Merlin. The man tried on a bright grin, though he winced as he tried to turn. Elyan held him down with a quick, “stop moving already!”

“Gwaine,” Merlin said. And he started crying.

Arthur huffed and lightly pushed him toward his friend.

Elyan ceded his seat to Merlin, who sniffled as he sat. Gwaine grinned up at him. “You don’t get to cry at my deathbed just yet.”

His words only made Merlin cry harder, and he heard Arthur snarl a warning at Gwaine. Somehow, the normalcy of it made him smile. It was undoubtedly ugly, as he kept crying through it, but it was something. Gwaine reached up as if to pat him on the head, but his hand trembled horribly at the effort. Merlin saw the black mark where Gwaine had grabbed him. He grabbed it and held it to his lips. _“Gelácne mín uncyste.”_ He’d never been good with healing magic, but still he tried, desperately.

“I’m fine, you worrywart. Gaius said the shock of it woke me up. We thought I’d just disappear from your dream. Did I not? Did you see something else?” Gwaine squeezed Merlin’s hand the best he could while his body seemed wracked with shivers. Merlin pulled the covers up to Gwaine’s chin, then returned to his spell. Slowly, so slowly it likely had nothing to do with Merlin’s efforts but instead with the factor of time, Gwaine stopped shivering.

Arthur came up to Gwaine’s side, standing beside Merlin, and looked down at his knight. “What happened?” he asked.

Gwaine grinned. “Hey, princess. Did you get your hero moment, then?” Arthur scowled. Merlin actually watched a flush of pink tinge his cheeks. Gwaine laughed. “Well, that’s good, then! So that druid guy’s dead, then?”

Merlin nodded. “It was an alp.”

“You saw the druid?”

Gwaine looked at Arthur at that. “Yeah. He controlled Merlin, ordered him to kill some fake you.” Gwaine shook his head. “Merlin was creepy. It was like talking to someone who was only half there.”

Merlin shifted where he sat. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Gwaine said, tugging lightly at the hand Merlin held. “That thing was controlling you. There’s no way you would have tried to kill Arthur, or hurt me, if not for him. We all know it.”

“He’s right,” Arthur said. “How many times do we have to remind you you’re a victim? Now stop apologizing.” He turned to Gaius. “It seems we’re down yet another room. Do you mind if Merlin and I sleep here for the night?”

“Of course not, sire. But are you certain?” Gaius looked up toward Merlin’s room. They both knew Merlin’s bed was nothing like what Arthur was used to.

“I insist,” Arthur said. He gently pried Merlin’s hands from Gwaine’s – Merlin wanted to believe the blackened skin was slightly healed, but he couldn’t trust his eyes – and led him upstairs. Merlin sent a last look Gwaine’s way, only to catch the man’s slow wave. He dared wave back before Arthur ushered him through the door. “He’ll be all right,” he said softly. “Gwaine’s made of stronger stuff than he seems.”

Merlin knew that. He also knew what his magic was capable of. What lightning was capable of. How it felt. He still had his scar from Nimueh’s blast. “I hurt him,” Merlin whispered. “And I wanted to. No – I didn’t want to hurt _him_. But I wanted to kill you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Merlin opened his mouth to argue. “No. Shut up, Merlin. You and I both know that, no matter how angry I make you, you would rather I stab you through your chest than you hurt me.”

Merlin just curled miserably against the door.

Arthur sighed. “Come here.” Arthur pointed to the bed, and slowly, mulishly, Merlin did as ordered. Arthur barely let him sit down before he was doing his own inventory, checking Merlin over for even the tiniest scrape.

“I’m fine, Arthur,” he sighed, and finally Arthur stopped and stepped back. A few long, silent moments passed before Arthur bade them both sleep. Merlin expected constant complaints about the state of his bed, but though Arthur squirmed back and forth, clearly uncomfortable, he didn’t say a word, nor did he pull his arm away from Merlin’s side.

It took hours, but finally Arthur fell asleep. Merlin lay awake, his hand wrapped over Arthur’s, half afraid that he would see the alp sneaking into his room to finish what it started.

* * *

“And, what? We let them roam around others’ fields, others’ crops, and hope those outlying villages remain safe? We can’t have knights everywhere in Camelot. We can’t _afford_ to give sorcerers free reign.”

Merlin stood back from the council’s table, behind Arthur’s chair at its head, taking over as servant for George, who had come crawling in to work sick as a dog that morning. For once, he wasn’t holding a wine jug at one of these things, but that was only because Matthias had to leave to get a new one. Merlin, meanwhile, stood prepared to do whatever Arthur needed of him. At the moment, that might very well be to hit the nobles gathered around the table, or perhaps give him a very long, very thorough head massage. The king looked like his was about to explode.

“So, what? We should have them roaming around the cities, getting lost in the crowds?” another said. “How are we to ever control them?”

“We would need them close to Camelot, in some of the larger surrounding villages. No more than a few at a time, if we _must_ integrate. I still say it would be better to have them create their own towns. It would be easier to keep an eye on them, and to keep Camelot’s citizens safe.”

Merlin tried very hard not to tense, but still managed to jump when someone slammed their hand on the table. Wide-eyed, he stared at the offender. Arthur.

His king curled his lips in something close to a sneer. “Months we’ve had to go through these laws,” Arthur said, his voice dangerously low. The council stared at one another as if trying to decide who to blame. “Months, and yet you still insist on reverting these talks to things that have been decided long ago.”

“But sire,” one of the councilmen in the back said, “these are serious issues. Your father–”

“This has nothing to do with my father. It has nothing to do with any of us.” Arthur leaned forward in his seat, the hand he’d slammed on the table clawing the wood as it formed a fist. “It has to do with the countless sorcerers out there, still awaiting death for the right to exist. They are just as much Camelot’s people as those without magic. We are here to gather basic laws against certain magical acts, not try to intern sorcerers in cages like dogs!”

Merlin saw a few heads dip down, either in shame or in upset from being called out. Either way, Merlin found his jaw dropping as Arthur stood. “This council is hereby relieved of their duty on this issue. I will no longer be needing any of you. In one week’s time, I will be reading out the new laws on sorcery. Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”

The chambers erupted into chatter even before the door closed behind Arthur. Merlin hurried after him, his mind whirring.

Arthur stood just outside the room, clearly waiting for Merlin to join him. The instant he did, Arthur jerked his head in negation, warning Merlin to keep silent. Merlin nearly tripped over his feet following after Arthur, his heart hammering in his chest.

They didn’t truly have anywhere they could go; Arthur’s room and the guest room they’d taken were being cleaned. Still, Arthur led him forward. Merlin trailed after as they passed tapestry after tapestry, until finally Arthur stopped outside of Morgana’s old rooms. Merlin barely had the chance to stare at the door before Arthur was sweeping him inside.

No candles lit this room, and though there was no dust, there was a heavy feel of neglect. Afternoon light spilled through the cracks in the old velvet curtains. “Don’t worry, Merlin,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s gaze was pulled to shoulders tense enough to challenge stone. “I won’t put this off any longer.”

Merlin frowned. “Arthur? What are you...” It hit him, far later than it should have. The dream. Arthur was referencing what Merlin had said in his dream. He wanted to argue, wanted to say something soothing. But the fear of discovery, of never being free, was a constant chain around his neck, and he couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. He leaned forward, rested his head against Arthur’s back, and sighed. “I never thought you wouldn’t, Arthur.”

Arthur turned. He ran a hand over Merlin’s hair, clenched his fingers in the light curls before relaxing his grip. “You were right, though. If this were a law that concerned non-sorcerers, I would never have allowed the council to carry on for so long. It’s inexcusable.”

Merlin tensed. In reality, what Arthur said was true. And yet. “Arthur, you’ve chosen to do something that breaks a core foundation Uther laid. It’s something you were taught from childhood. You learned on your father’s lap that people like me were evil. Yet you chose to stand by me when I revealed my magic to you. You’ve chosen to not only accept me, but to accept all magic. How could I rush you, or demand you work faster, when you’re already pushing through barriers so deeply ingrained as to be part of your blood?”

“Because you are the man that I love, Merlin, and it is your right.” Arthur leaned forward and kissed Merlin. It started soft, giving; as usual, however, in mere moments in became needy, teeth scraping over lips, tongues battling for dominance. Arthur was the one to break it off, almost as if he had to or risk drowning. He breathed heavily. “You have the right to ask to be free. To no longer live in the shadows. I have promised you this, and I have not given it to you, even as I continue to lie with you. I’m like the noble who promises to marry his servant and leaves her penniless and pregnant on the streets.”

“You’re not!” Merlin said, only to still when Arthur leaned his head on Merlin’s. Their old ritual. Arthur had said the word Merlin had thought would never be theirs. He’d said he loved Merlin as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Merlin cupped Arthur’s cheeks with hands that wanted to shake, let his happiness leak through the touch. Eventually, his own even, giddy breaths calmed Arthur’s. “You’re not like that at all, Arthur. You and I… we’re more than that. That creature twisted me into… into something I never want to become. I would no more blame you for being wary of magic than I would try to kill you.”

Arthur sighed. “Then I will blame me, and I will do better.” Arthur rubbed his cheek against Merlin’s. “Now,” he said, and his breath on Merlin’s ear made him shiver, “I’ll ask what I should have asked months ago. Merlin.” He pulled back just enough for them to meet one another’s eyes. “Will you assist me in putting these laws together? I need them done in just one week.”

Merlin smiled. The idea of taking this step with Arthur, together, as an equal, made his heart soar. “Of course, Arthur. I would love to. And when we finish for the night?”

Arthur grinned. “I say we put some practice into seeing just what benefits magic can bring.”

Merlin laughed.


End file.
